#climate café

[justalittlesolarpunk]

Tried to run a climate café in my village today, but nobody showed up. Feeling discouraged but I’m going to keep trying. Guess I’ll eat all the snacks I baked myself…

[jiminrings]

pink sapphire

pairing: jungkook x reader

wordcount: 11k

glimpse: having jungkook for a husband is great as far as arranged marriages could go; he's easy to love. your relationship's perhaps become so easy that jungkook doesn't think sometimes — and that's what makes it the easiest for you to hate him.

alternatively, you and jungkook married each other for business, but the both of you stay for love.

[ angst, arranged marriage au, fluff n really wholesome scenes (it cancels out the angst i swear), Jungkook Tries Hard (affectionate), miscommunication, jealousy, self-deprecation, sexual innuendos (no actual smut here!!), did i already say that jungkook tries rlly hard and is remorseful the whole time ]

notes: my year-ender fic for 2022 :) thank u for being here — i'm grateful for all ur love n support!! i'll see u in the next one <3

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!!

Jungkook’s a vocal person.

Your husband does not leave a single thought unspoken, sometimes his thinkpieces too impulsive that when he says them in public, you try to play it off by either distancing yourself with him or from him.

“I think the world would be just fine even if all the bees disappear,” Jungkook once said to you with conviction, midway into chewing his cheeseburger. “There’s articles about it proving otherwise but they’re too long for my attention span, but yeah, I don’t think it would be that bad, y’know?” he giggles, looking up at the ceiling in serious thought. “If anything, the Bee Movie taught us that-…” 

Jungkook yelps automatically when you pinch his thigh, your hand sternly gripping his knee like both your reputations depended on it (they really did). “Jungkook, we’re literally in a climate change gala right now.”

“I don’t think coffee’s ever that serious. Seriously, world barista championships? New techniques in supposedly making the best cup of coffee when you’re all just gonna shit it ten minutes later? It’s not that deep,” Jungkook once whispered to you in urgency, his annoyance through the roof. He’s glued to your side, intent on whispering all about his irritation.

“Jungkook, I’m begging you,” you wince, screwing your eyes shut and slowly moving the two of you to the far end of the room. “We were literally right next to your uncle whose new wife is the organizer for that very championship you’re shitting on.”

“We need to talk about the tote bag epidemic,” Jungkook once whisper-yelled to you in a rush, holding you by the arm because he just can’t contain his inner thoughts any longer. You’re thankful, sure, that you’re your husband’s go-to person for all of his random thoughts; it’s just that he picks the worst settings to tell them to you.“They look kinda tacky, everybody deludes themselves that they’re functional even if they have zero pockets, and-…”

“And you just offended atleast three different age groups and all of them are in this café. We need to leave.”

Jungkook’s endearing this way, raw and a tad bit annoying. He’s expressive as much as he’s vocal, his hand slotted on your waist like second nature to him. Being married to him isn’t bad. Sure, the circumstances of your union in the first place were for business anyway, but the both of you understood and agreed at the end of the day. By all means, he’s ideal — ideal until he opens his mouth when he’s sleeping.

If there’s anything that your two years of marriage (and counting) to Jungkook makes you realize, it’s that you should value your peace and sanity more than anything.

“Are you trying to kill me?”

Jungkook groggily asks you with one eye open, conveniently seeing you in the act of hovering around him with an ominous object in your hand. Maybe it’s the sleep in his eyes or the fog in his brain, but when you look at him like this– bothered and passionately frustrated, it makes him love you even more.

“No,” you mutter, the snoring mouth strip in your hands just begging to be put on already. “I’m trying to make you quiet.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

Perhaps it’s the sleep in your eyes or the fog in your brain, but you swear you just saw your husband crack a smirk despite keeping you up multiple nights a week, especially for the past month. He’s not endearing tonight, not at all.

“Isn’t marriage all about accepting each other’s flaws?” Jungkook frowns, about to turn on his side when you put your knee to block him.

“We’re arranged,” you deadpan. “I can’t accept you snoring with bass and reverb every night, Jungkook. I can barely sleep.”

“But didn’t you tell me you like it when I make noises?” Jungkook glares playfully. Bringing up your sex life with him out of the blue almost always does the trick, but it probably won’t work tonight now that you’re only awake and breathing heavily from sheer annoyance. “That you adore me whenever I tell you how much I love it?”

“Jungkook,” you hiss, tempted to flick him on the forehead in his sleep repeatedly so he’ll wake up with a mark. “Will you let me put the snoring strip on you or do we divorce?”

“Divorce,” he sighs out, a pinch instantly placed on his thigh that makes him jolt and squeak anyway. Jungkook whines, correcting himself when your hand hovers his chest this time. “Divorcing is bad!”

“Mhmm. Good night, Kook.”

You vibrate just by the prospect of sleeping peacefully tonight without the walls in the house being shaken up by your husband’s snores, tucking yourself in with an exhale that could last for minutes.

“Mmh-hmm!”

Jungkook could only pathetically whine through the mouth strip, resigning to his fate as he just spoons you from behind and huffs.

“What’s that? You want to wear snoring strips every night?” you chuckle, going to sleep with a smile. “What a nice husband.”

( ♡ )

Every now and then, you and Jungkook have to take a refresher course on each other’s businesses. The both of you know a lot already, constant conversations about which meetings happened where and reminders for events that the other will clear up their schedule for.

There’s already the concern and the general knowledge — it’s just all in the technicalities (even the simplest ones) that the two of you are lacking on.

“Is this a mock neck or a crewneck?” Jungkook holds up a shirt that’s yet to be released, eyebrows raised as if waiting for you to mess up. Come to think of it, you have to know now because his family’s holding company had acquired yet another brand and there’ll be a televised event for it — and some reporters ask the stupidest questions to date. You can’t be the weakest link.

“I wanna say neither,” you clear your throat, biting your bottom lip in confusion. It’s a shirt with a collar and that’s the only thing that matters. You know there’s a name for it and there’s a possibility that the choices Jungkook gave you were all bluffs.

Your answer definitely seems to pique both Jungkook’s interest and amusement, resisting the urge to laugh.

“Elaborate.”

“It’s neither of the two. It’s uhm, in the middle?” you tilt your head, only praying that you could bullshit your explanation to your husband, the very person that created the garment. “It’s an all-new neckline created by Jeon Jungkook because that’s what his label is all about.”

Flattering, but really wrong.

“Cool,” he snickers, nodding to himself before he tosses it for you to catch. “It’s a crewneck though.”

“What? Then why did you make me elaborate?” you complain, scoffing to yourself because you know you should’ve went with that answer. Crewnecks should be easy enough to answer but for some reason (read: you stayed up last night watching new-money elitist reality shows instead of studying), you couldn’t answer.

“To see how good you can run away with your answer, duh.”

“And did I run away with it?”

“You ran away with it for like, four meters,” Jungkook commends you, the distance not all that bad in hindsight, atleast until he opens his mouth again. “There’s a hundred meters in total.”

Trivial things like quiz night on each other’s professions remind you that Jungkook’s nice to be with. Banter flows easily and he’s just so charming that so far, you haven’t deeply regretted a single day out of the two years you’ve been married.

You may not be able to name all the different fabrics, silhouettes, and techniques behind Jungkook’s very own streetwear brand, but you know that he likes being held when he’s asleep; that when he taps your thigh groggily after waking up in the middle of the night, it’s him very kindly asking you to rub circles on his back until he falls asleep.

“Okay, my turn!”

Your glass table almost shakes in excitement when you retrieve your sketches, making your husband all the more nervous because you look genuinely excited and he doesn’t want to disappoint you. He doesn’t have the room for error — your family’s jewelry brand turns 100 years old since the opening of its first shop and the event will be widely attended by everyone from all industries. Who’s to say that your eccentric grandfather won’t suddenly host a quizbee all about their craft?

You flash the paper quickly and your husband sighs in relief, grinning in confidence.

“Emerald cut, easy!” 

The confidence is quickly washed out from Jungkook because you snort, putting the paper down.

“It’s an octagon cut.”

“No it’s not,” he immediately retorts in disbelief, squinting at the sketch you’ve set down already.

“I sketched these,” you narrow your eyes. You forgot just how quick Jungkook can keep himself in denial. “Emerald cuts have more depth to them.

He succumbs just as quickly as he turned stubborn though, rolling his eyes with the internal reminder to touch up on his jewelry knowledge because your event comes before his.

“Fine, sue me for thinking your drawings have depth and dynamic to them.”

“You’re buttering me up.”

“Is it working?” Jungkook blinks owlishly, proud of himself when he sees the corner of your lips twitching. He holds his arm out to sling across your waist out of instinct, pleased in pink when you lean into him.

“Barely.”

Jungkook frowns, nosing into your hair with a huff. “Look who’s talking. You made up an all-new neckline by yourself.”

“Shh,” you hum. “Let me get away with it.”

These moments of domesticity are what remind you that Jungkook’s never been less than ideal for you. That despite being in the same social circle as kids and only starting off as friends, you weren’t hesitant when both your grandparents suggested the idea of getting the two of you married.

In trivial and domestic moments like these, you think that you would’ve wanted to marry Jungkook even if you weren’t arranged.

“I let you get away with a lot of things,” he playfully huffs, resting his chin on your shoulder intentionally heavy to get you to cave deeper into his embrace.

“Because I barely wrong you!” you reason, rolling your eyes because you know for a fact that although you’re not a perfect wife, you’re beyond ideal.

“I know,” Jungkook rolls his eyes this time, the truth undeniable. You’re right; you’re so perfect for him that sometimes, he thinks he doesn’t deserve you.  “How about me? Will you let me get away with a lot of things?”

“I already have,” you sing-song, narrowing your eyes playfully as if in deep warning. “But I won’t always do.”

( ♡ )

Jungkook first realized that you loved him when he missed a single step on the staircase and tumbled a whole flight.

It was 3 AM then, the reason behind his sudden trip downstairs being the fever you developed overnight when you had just gotten home from a ski trip. He had put a wet towel in the freezer in the afternoon and he was supposed to put it on you before you went to sleep. Jungkook must’ve beat himself up for forgetting because he wakes up with a cold sweat, determined to put that frozen towel on you like his life depended on it.

Jungkook thought he was doing well by the way he could navigate clearly even with the sleep in his system, eyes still half-lidded and brain still half-working that he decides to rip out the largest yawn to man mid-step on the staircase — before he knows it, he’s woken up immediately to the bottom of it.

“Jungkook!” you yelled to him then in a panic, eyes wide and frantic to see him at the bottom of the stairs with a sheepish smile. Jungkook knew then that seeing you with a head-splitting migraine visible on your pale lips and fatigued eyes, scooping him up on your arms with nothing but scolding and fussing on rotation — he knew that you loved him more than you let on.

You know Jungkook loves you. So when the bed dips and your arms grow cold despite swearing up and down that the both of you have a free day today, you doubt for a second.

“What are you doing up so early?” you mutter, stifling a yawn to see Jungkook up without a complaint.

“Breakfast with my parents. My crazy aunt suddenly came over and they need backup,” Jungkook answers with a pained laugh, cussing himself for being such a filial son. “Don’t worry, I know you hate her plus you were up all night yesterday so I just told them you can’t come because you’re under the weather.”

You’re put at ease to hear him, sighing a breath of relief — good, Jungkook still loves you and doesn’t plan to leave you. It’s just an inkling you’ve had the last few weeks, the daunting realization that in a couple months’ time, it’ll be three years of marriage with him.

It’s the impulsive, less rational part of your brain that thinks Jungkook’s growing bored of you, confused of how he’s been perfectly content being your husband for almost three whole years. 

You go with Jungkook all the way through downstairs, your playful teasing towards him about never yawning again on the steps giving him more amusement (and embarrassment) than necessary.

“Kook?” you question with a furrow in your brow, pointing at the dish that’s occupied still. “You forgot the car keys.”

“Oh. I’m not taking the car,” he smiles, shrugging to emphasize the jacket that he intentionally wore. You missed the detail somehow, the surprise in your voice more evident.

“You’re taking your motorbike?”

“Mhmm!” Jungkook hums pleasantly, the background music in his brain going from calm elevator music to rising bass rift. He’s just about to bid you goodbye with a kiss after he wears his gloves but he’s stopped even before he could come near. You’ve already read his mind.

Your husband knows it when you put your arms across your chest, nodding towards the cabinet with a tone that leaves no room for counterarguments.

“Go wear your full gear.”

“But the breakfast place isn’t even that far,” Jungkook whines, head tilting back. His gear was literally hot, protecting him from sunlight yet physically making him boil inside. 

“I want you in one piece.”

“You want me?” Jungkook cheekily grins, eyebrows wagging incessantly with his arms outstretched. That’s it! If he could just act cuter and be a little more-

“Go wear your gear.”

“I look goofy,” he mutters, eyes downcast. The longer he goes without blinking, the faster he knows that he’s going to stick to your words.

“You look safe,” you smile in success when you put his helmet on, securing it extra tightly that draws a whine from him.

Jungkook frowns but he knows that you’re right as always, a relieved sigh coursing throughout his whole body because who knew where he’d end up without you.

“Ride safe, Jungkook. I mean it. Don’t pull any tricks,” you glare pointedly at him, recounting all of the near misses he had from wanting to be adventurous, be it a trip downstairs to the refrigerator or in the middle of a main thoroughfare.

“I promise not to pull a wheelie on the highway, yes,” Jungkook mockingly salutes you, drawing out a faux disappointed sigh from you.

“You’re forgetting something.”

Was he really? Jungkook furrows his brows in confusion, smacking his lips when he seems to get the gist of it. He walks towards you, puckering his lips to the max because he doesn’t want to headbutt you with a solid helmet for just a smooch, landing a gentle kiss on your cheek. 

You appreciate it, but Jungkook’s not quite right.

“No, not that.”

“What?” he seems taken aback, suddenly realizing. “Oh!” he giggles, raising up his right hand in a pledge. “I promise to text you when I get there.”

“Good.”

You have to put more strength to drag Jungkook by the helmet, angling your head to the side to kiss so he doesn’t knock you in the forehead with the extremely safe (and extremely bulky) helmet you got him.

Jungkook smiles in contentment, clearing his throat as he revs his engine. It’s all good then. He had become worried in silence because your three years of marriage were approaching and got scared because what if you grew bored of him already?

Jungkook worries that he’ll mess things up with you one day, but with the way he can see you waving at him frantically on his side mirror when he just left, it’s okay. 

He knows you still love him.

( ♡ )

Hoseok’s your most talented and trusted metalsmith.

His work ethic’s unparalleled, your vision only coming into fruition through his support and skill. He’s indispensable to you, your place in the direction of your family’s business cemented by Hoseok’s aid.

Hoseok as both an artist and your employee is different from Hoseok as your friend. Both are cunning but the latter is more ruthless, the lines being blurred every now and then. He loves his job, don’t get him twisted at all — in fact, he trusts you as a boss and the company beyond comprehension that he doesn’t bear any tact for anyone who threatens either.

Not even for Jungkook.

“A collab, huh?” Hoseok squints, looking through the portfolio you’ve handed him. There’s already projected numbers that your analysts have predicted for you but he pays the papers no mind. He clicks his tongue, looking up at you with an unreadable expression. “A streetwear brand wants a limited-edition collection with us?”

Jungkook clears his throat, timidly raising his hand. He’s always known that Hoseok’s standoffish to literally everyone except you, but what he can’t take is being talked about like he isn’t in the same room.

“Uhm, I’m Y/N’s husband.”

“Well you’re the owner of that streetwear brand, aren’t you?” Hoseok raises a brow at him, tilting his head. He looks drastically bored, his tongue poking his cheek.

Jungkook blinks, not exactly knowing where this was going but he doesn’t like it one bit. “Yes, but I’m also her husband.”

“Okay?” Hoseok tilts his head, eyes already exhausted from the conversation. You know that look on him, the one that tells you he’s bored to death and is itching to shut up the nearest person to him. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Jungkook rarely gets flustered by anyone else besides you and this time, it’s the bad kind. The embarrassment he gets from just conversing with Hoseok makes him feel like he’s an inconvenience, unease settling into his stomach. Jungkook wishes he couldn’t be so perceptive to know that despite Hoseok’s eyes normally being unreadable, his gaze now on his sketches can be read as underwhelmed.

“Well I-I mean, I’m hearing a lot of us and it sounds like you and Y/N, not me and Y/N,” he licks his lips, recognizing the insecurity that sticks to his tone like honey. Not only does he feel insulted as an artist, he also feels insufficient as a husband.

“That is what I’m saying though,” Hoseok trails off, hand vaguely gesturing for Jungkook to fill in the rest of the blanks. When he doesn’t, Hoseok does it for him. “It’s me and Y/N seeing this brand through. Not you and her.”

Jungkook blinks once, twice.

Hoseok isn’t wrong. No matter how much pain it brings Jungkook to admit it, Hoseok isn’t wrong. Your marriage may be for you and him alone, but your company– your artistry is only yours as much as it’s Hoseok’s. He has no place here and he feels it, his initial confidence that the collaboration he proposed was going to pass already dwindling by the millisecond.

“Hoseok’s right,” you cough, breaking their conversation. The tension was already too thick and you’ve barely made it halfway to looking at the entirety of the portfolio. “Reel it in, Jungkook.”

He’s jealous. He’s jealous and he forgot just how pathetic and insufficient one could feel when the green monster of heartburn decides to make an appearance. Jungkook just about doubts everything, from thinking of how your admiration for Hoseok is probably much higher than the admiration you have for him, to thinking if you even benefit from being arranged to him.

Hoseok looks over the designs, noting all the details silently.

“Huh. I see,” he hums, clearing his throat to try and keep all the crass words he has in mind to himself because you’re looking at him intently. “Skulls. Haven’t seen this one before.”

“You sketched this?” Hoseok nods every now and then, holding up the paper that had deep indents of the pencil on the paper to the point that it defeats the concept of a sketch. Your husband nods, and he wishes he hadn’t because Hoseok comments not a second later. “Figures.”

He hums, silently approving here and there of some concepts he could totally get behind. It’s not all rubbish content, but he can’t say that salvageable automatically equates to commendable.

“So? What do you think, Hobi?” you ask when the silence has gone long enough, having noticed that Jungkook already grew too quiet in your corner.

Hoseok calculates in his brain, looking from the portfolio and back to you. He tries not to clench his jaw for the sake of you silently pleading him to mince his words and actions, clasping his hands together.

“Yeah, it’s doable,” he nods, making Jungkook smile despite his ego being a little wounded. He’s bounced back miraculously, profusely thanking Hoseok with an unexplained eagerness to him. Before Jungkook could launch himself to further possibilities though, Hoseok calls for you.

“Y/N? A word, please?”

Jungkook looks back from the door, hesitant doe eyes flitting between the two of you. You don’t know exactly what’s going through his mind but you know better than to project, bidding him goodbye for the timebeing. “It’ll be quick.”

The most commendable trait you can attribute to Hoseok besides being your friend is his passion for your craft. He’s vision-oriented in the sense that he cuts straight to the chase before he could even lose the trail that the sudden burst of fervor leaves him.

“Meridian’s your baby. It’s your grandmother’s grandmother’s baby. It’s coveted. It has meaning,” Hoseok rambles, the sigh leaving him more concerned than it was relieved at being let out. He can’t mince his words now — he can’t put it in any other way besides the truth. “Collaborating with Jungkook cheapens it.”

“Hoseok.”

Your tone edges on a bite, clenching your jaw as you try to take everything in. Hoseok’s been your voice of reason for so long but you don’t know how to accept that voice now, the tinge of guilt slowly staining you because the back of your mind tells you that he isn’t wrong.

Jungkook’s streetwear brand is huge; whether or not you chalk it up to his name being linked to his family’s holding company that’s responsible for other designer brands, your husband’s brand specifically remains larger than life. It’s not a flawless brand, that much you’re sure of, but it’s still of great value.

Just perhaps not of the same degree that Hoseok holds your company to.

“It’s not all bad, but most of his work is dispassionate. It’s typical. Meridian would look cheap if you commit to this fever dream collaboration.”

There’s a rash on your neck, one that’s warm and speaks to your ear of how shitty it must feel to even agree partially to what Hoseok’s saying. Your duties as an artist in the business rarely clash with your courtesies as Jungkook’s wife — today just happens to be one of those days.

“It’s Jungkook’s idea, okay?” you relent, voice low as if in defeat of admission. You don’t mean to belittle him, you just happen to know and listen to reason. “It’s not the best, I know, but it’s honest work. Let’s give him a chance.”

“You’re giving him a chance because he’s your husband, not because you see any potential.”

Hoseok says it without uttering nor a single sense of doubt. He sounds so definite that you don’t even know if he’s still insulting Jungkook or if he’s insulting you at this point, swallowing your words.

There’s truth to your craft but you know there’s an even bigger truth to the unspoken protectiveness you have over Jungkook, the answer sounding seemingly shallow but that’s what it really is — love makes you shallow as much as it makes you deep.

“You’ll know when you’re married.”

“Arranged would be the term for you and Jungkook. Not married,” Hoseok quips. “You’re only holding back your critique. We both know it’s a dead end when it comes to creative direction.”

The both of you leave it at that, the decision being unanimous to collaborate with Jungkook despite your metalsmith’s hesitance. What you say goes, that’s just how hierarchy works. 

Unbeknownst to you and Hoseok though, Jungkook’s been listening the whole time — that’s just how love operates sometimes; hidden and relinquished.

( ♡ )

Jungkook’s hurt.

How crude of Hoseok to think of him that way. How worse of you to agree even.

Jungkook’s irrational when he’s hurt, refusing to see reason. He knows at the back of his head that he’s hit a rut and pitching in a collaboration with your brand is his last-ditch attempt in sparking something. Cheap was a word for tackiness and to have your friend use it on him brings him to a new low.

It’s just jewelry. What you make is just jewelry. Just pieces of metal bended and soldered together with shiny gems that don’t possess any real meaning to them besides superficial.

It’s not that deep.

Not that deep to the point that when Hyejoo, his childhood friend turned actress turned fleeting appearance in his life every now and then (whom you hate for some reason), asks him for a favor — Jungkook barely hesitates.

Hyejoo stands before him in a shirt from his brand’s limited collection, one out of the only hundred ever made. If Jungkook recalls correctly, he didn’t even send any items from the limited collection to any of his friends; he left everyone besides you to go fend for themselves.

Perhaps his childhood friend’s truly a fan of his craft, knowing her for her utmost support towards all his releases. To be honest, the two of them aren’t even that close anymore to the point that they’re each other’s first friend to think of in dire circumstances, except now — now when she needs him for a favor.

“But I need a pink ring for the event, Jungkook!” Hyejoo whines, throwing her head back for dramatic effect. Truth be told, she knew no brand that had pink jewelry that was elegant enough for her taste except yours. She’s turned down sponsorships all for a ring you probably keep in your sock drawer. “Yes I can buy from other brands but you’re there, Kook. You’re available and I can borrow from you because your wife has a shit ton.”

Jungkook knows what Hyejoo’s talking about. It’s the one pink ring that you wore on your engagement party with him and it’s become the talk of everyone from how ethereal you looked, the one tiny piece of jewelry tying it all together.

He knows it’s pink and he knows it’s just hidden away in its jewelry box, one that you keep right next to his collection of watches. There was no fancy vault for it either, just tucked next to his timepieces as if they were of the same value.

“Come on, she won’t even notice,” Hyejoo urges him, making him inwardly cringe. She turned up on his front door unannounced asking for a favor and he feels indebted her for the last time she granted him one, the apartment complex that Hyejoo owned becoming the perfect backdrop to his collection that’s still renowned to this day.

Jungkook’s loyal, he knows he is. His loyalties lie with you and he still honors his debt — whether or not you’re caught in the middle. It’s true that you won’t even notice, you don’t even peek at it anyway! For someone who’s a part of a family of jewelers, you rarely accessorize yourself gaudily.

“Fine. I’ll let you borrow,” Jungkook mutters, finally relenting to Hyejoo’s requests. He opens the door wider, on the way to your shared bedroom but looks back hastily at Hyejoo to point a stern finger. “But give it back, okay?”

It takes a great amount of strength for Jungkook to even hand the ring to Hyejoo, not even including the box with her because a) you would know that it was missing, and b) he wants her to wear it at all times until she gives it back the next day. Jungkook takes it personally to flick her wrist to serve as a reminder that he had given it to her already, even going so far to take a picture of the two of them and make her sign on his notes app.

He’s not necessarily betraying you — or so he thinks. It was just jewelry that you wouldn’t miss, same as the shirts that he gives away to his friends. Their retail prices may be lightyears away but you would understand; you always do.

Jungkook gaslights himself into thinking that he did no wrong but the guilt is what slowly gnaws on him, the tips of his fingers going numb every time he looks at you. 

Come to think of it, his decision to lend your ring to Hyejoo was out of sheer pettiness even without the assurance that you’ll take notice of it. His hurt over Hoseok’s comment disappeared the moment he handed her your ring, but to his surprise, it’s anxiousness that replaces his irritation.

He kisses you good night still as if today didn’t happen; how his irrationality had gotten the best of him when he got hurt by Hoseok’s remarks over his passion and creativity, and just a few hours later, it’s his impulsiveness and misplaced urge for vindication that lent your unsuspecting ring to his childhood friend.

“Jungkook!” you yell out in panic, urging him awake instantly that his heart beats incessantly despite being pulled out of sleep. You look frantic, the rawness in your eyes not from your lack of sleep, but instead from tears. “Call 911. The Interpol! The CIA! The fucking Blue House!”

“What?! What happened?!”

He’s panicked just as you are, hands shakily clutching his phone. He looks you up and down and inspects you for injuries to which there are none, nothing but overwhelm making your body shake.

Jungkook can’t bear to see you so glum and helpless, your bottom lip trembling as you look at him feeling nothing but pathetic.

“My ring,” you whisper brokenly, the phantom feeling of wearing it making you sob even more. “My ring is gone.”

Jungkook’s mouth dries, the panic in his own body turning against himself, his remorse growing into something larger than life. He could physically see the confusion on your face on the way he paled, his phone dropping out of his hold.

Your husband’s hands reach for you but you don’t take them, recoiling even before he could open his mouth. Jungkook was readable — too readable to the point that you wish he had lied to your face instead.

“I-I can explain.”

Jungkook weakens by the knees when the words drape from the tip of his tongue, your chest sucking in an inhale so sharp that he gets weakened by the force of it. “I lent it to Hyejoo.”

You’re quiet, the type of rage in you simmering ever so slowly that it builds to an immense heat. You don’t know if you can ever muster to look at Jungkook in the eye, your middle finger that knows the grooves of your ring twitching in muscle memory.

“You what?” you croak, tilting your head. You know what you’ve heard but you just wish you’re mistaken this time, cursing your own accuracy. “Who told you that you could do that?” 

Jungkook’s cornered in his mind and he spews the first thing in his mind, no matter how stupid it sounded.

“Yours is mine and mine is-…”

“That doesn’t apply here! You’re so fucking-…” you just about burst in the seams, clenching your jaw so hard to the point that you give yourself a headache. You’re resolute this way, the pitiful look on your husband’s face not getting a single drop of remorse from you. “Get it back.”

You wouldn’t have lent it to anyone regardless if Jungkook asked you, but you would have considered at the very least. For him to take something so special to you and loan it to someone you’re not even fond of ticks a wire in your brain, your anger coming before the sadness fully hits.

“Y/N!” he hisses, angry at both the situation and himself but he now thinks of the courtesy that he didn’t possess when Hyejoo borrowed your ring. “I can’t turn back on my word.”

“What? Your word that favors Hyejoo and shits on mine?” you scoff in disbelief, laughing at the mockery Jungkook makes of you. It’s insulting and saddening and you can’t even begin to think of the extensive cleaning and safekeeping you’ll have to do once you get your ring back. “I said, get it back. You’re my husband and you’re just her friend, you have all the means to take my ring back.”

Jungkook turns somber, a stark contrast to your anger. He pleads with you, finally closing the gap between you to which you roll your eyes.

“The event is tonight. She’ll return it tomorrow. Please, it’ll be embarrassing.”

“For you or for her?” you ask but the rage in your voice is already simmering, the daunting thoughts of how Jungkook thinks of his friend’s sake and himself first than his wife making you clench your fists around nothing.

“Y/N, please.”

His incessant begging does little to influence your decision because you’ve already changed your mind, the rage that dipped in you and the fact that your heart’s already aching despite having just woken up converting you instead.

“Tomorrow morning. I want it back in the case before I wake up.”

The two of you sleep apart for the night and Jungkook can’t even bring himself to contest it knowing that he doesn’t deserve to hold you. He simmers in self-loathing, unable to sleep the night when his phone dings from the notifications it has of your name.

Hyejoo’s look on the carpet trends the whole night, the main focus of everyone being the pink ring that adorns her ring finger. There’s threads of speculations how you and her are either best friends or how she must’ve bought it from you. If only he could, Jungkook would reply to each comment saying that Hyejoo doesn’t hold a candle to your elegance and how the ring has always been yours — that it’s his fault that his friend’s even wearing the same piece.

He’s restless and he can’t even begin to think how much more tired you feel. Of your name being brought up and of him royally fucking up. 

When Jungkook thinks it couldn’t be worse, karma one-ups him from the very mistake he committed when he entertained Hyejoo’s favor in his mind.

“You’re stupid,” you spit to Hyejoo who stands on your porch, head downturned in shame. She had half the decency to face you personally but lacks the rest to honor her end of the bargain; she lacks the intellect to respect you.

She lost the ring. She lost the pink ring you’ve treasured and cared for since you were a teenager, losing it after a careless and drunk decision of skinny dipping. You feel like you’ve been made a fool not only by your husband, but also by his friend that you don’t care for at all.

The tears fall out of your eyes in anger, each one being in a rush to exit because you’re full of resentment at this point.

“You’re a brainless, stupid, careless fucking idiot. I don’t want to see you in my household again,” you point at her, making her step back.

“This is Jungkook’s-…” she squeaks, just about to correct you when you point at her even more menacingly. You’re not even joking around as it seems like, eyes angry to the point that they lack of love, even for Jungkook who tries to hold you back.

“I’ll get a restraining order on you.”

Hyejoo scurries out all with the promise to reimburse you (as if she has the money to do so) that falls on deaf ears, your hand slamming the door too hard that your husband swears the walls shook with your force.

You look unrecognizable with the sheer disappointment you have for him, your anger dripping off of you thickly that he’s rendered speechless.

“You,” you seethe. “I fucking hate you.”

You never told him that before.

You’ve gotten mad at him on several occasions but never to this degree where you tell him that you loathe him. This is the furthest that you’ve took it, the honesty behind your words making his bottom lip tremble.

Jungkook’s eyes have been perpetually moist since last night but it’s only now that his eyes sting with white hot sadness. You’re only reacting out of your state of overwhelm; you must be, right?

“I hate you so, so much, Jungkook.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“No, I really mean that,” you scoff to his face, shaking your head in absoluteness. “What would you do if I sold your car, huh?”

Jungkook wants to apologize to you so bad but he doesn’t have the right words to give you the proper one that you deserve. He gives you an answer off the top of his head, the disappointment for himself growing if he does otherwise.

“It’s just a car.”

“Well this is just not a fucking ring to me! It’s not simple like that!” you burst, your movements jerky.

“I’ll buy you a new ring,” he whispers, wanting to tug at his hair for being so stupid. He should’ve considered the possibility that Hyejoo has a knack for being careless; he failed to account that he went behind your back to lend your ring to someone else in the first place.

“I can buy my own rings!” you exclaim. “What you don’t get is that this means the world to me! If your uncle gave you a car, and I gave it to someone else and now it’s on the bottom of the ocean, what would you feel?”

“It’s just a car from my uncle. I can replace it. I can buy a better one.”

Jungkook knows he’s just making excuses. He’s just being defensive now that he’s cornered and has no excuse for behaving so poorly. He can’t escape the anger and the disappoint he’s flooded with, not when you cry out of sheer distress.

“Not if my aunt isn’t here! Not if this ring is one of the only things I have of her!”

Sure, your aunt was dodgy. She’s the black sheep of your family and had done more than a lot of questionable things, but she cared for you. She had given you her own ring when you were twelve and whilst it was too big for you to wear, she gave you a chain for you to wear it around your neck.

The ring is something you can easily replicate but the thought behind it is what you can’t take back. It’s not the only piece of her that you have but it’s one of the earliest things you obtained; one of the most notable pieces out of the bunch.

“You don’t think. You don’t care. You don’t love.” 

For Jungkook to carelessly seize it from you and loan it to someone else grips your heart like a vice. You’re gonna dwell on it for more than a couple of days and realize that you have more sentimental and elegant things you have of your aunt eventually — but what matters to you is how you feel now. How Jungkook had disappointed you so bad, you feel like throwing up.

“I want to divorce you,” you seethe, meaning your words at the heat of the moment. Jungkook stands frozen, hearing his own heartbeat thrum in his ears. “I can find a new husband. What I can’t find — what neither you nor Hyejoo can’t find is my ring.”

( ♡ )

You do it while he’s sleeping.

You take advantage of Jungkook’s fatigue and disorientation from crying his eyes out, passed out in the couch while he hugs himself with his arms to try and replicate your embrace. It’s already morning and it only looks like he slept just minutes ago, positively dozed off.

You take much care in slipping of the platinum wedding ring from his finger, joining your discarded one in your palm. There’s only carelessness when you scoop them into a tiny drawstring bag, taking it to Hoseok and doing a regular work day as if your head hadn’t pounded with hurt just last night.

It’s only convenient for the both of you; Jungkook’s decision slingshots back to him, and your client would be happy. Hoseok texted you last night asking if he should grant the request of a high-profile client with a titanium pendant, and it just so happens that you have two chunks of it that you no longer need. It could be melted and repurposed — after all, it’s just jewelry according to Jungkook.

The guilt of your impulsiveness doesn’t hit you instantly, it only comes with confusion when you see your husband in shambles.

When you come home, the whole house is upturned. Jungkook’s frantic, waking up to a hand that bears no wedding ring; no proof of you. His eyes glaze with relief briefly when he sees you, urging you to take in the situation fully.

“The police. The CIA! Interpol! MI6 — or is it MI7? Fuck, Mr. Bean’s movie was too good! Get the Blue House on the line!” he blubbers, looking back and forth the cushions of the couch and his hand. “My wedding ring!”

It’s perhaps a ballsy move made on your part, but you can’t guilt yourself into bearing the blame. You made your wedding rings and it only makes sense for you to get rid of them. The bands are symbolic, made and upheld with love for the last two years but in your haste of upset, you’ve given them away.

You perhaps regret it slightly, the fog in your brain lifting but only faintly. You’re still mad and disappointed at Jungkook, and perhaps you don’t mean the bit of divorcing him, but you do mean wholeheartedly the sentimentality you have behind all your jewelry.

The platinum in your ring finger just felt too heavy last night that you grew weary of it, not thinking twice when you removed yours and Jungkook’s. Even if the two of you make up and you don’t end up divorcing Jungkook, you wouldn’t want to wear the same ring that brought you the same pain during its stint.

“I sold them,” you answer, turning your back on him before you could see the anguish in his face. “We have no need for them.”

( ♡ )

Jungkook’s making you a rice bowl as an apology.

Buttered fried rice, egg, bacon, and all with a generous amount of cheese. It’s his hangover food when he needs something greasy and filling but the only difference from his past hangovers and your anger at him is the latter barely feels like it could be rectified.

He says his apologies again through the door and he’ll happily repeat it to your face if you stand longer in front of him for more than a minute, his panic even larger than the oil splashes he’s gotten from making your bacon eagerly.

“I’m so sorry, baby. It was stupid of me to lend your ring to Hyejoo behind your back and I swear I won’t do it again. I know that ring meant a lot to you and I-I was so pathetic by invalidating that,” he mutters through the door, looking at the frying pan every now and then to make sure he wasn’t burning anything. “I have every intention of finding your ring and making it up to you, cross my heart!”

It feels insulting, even. For him to think that he could change the ache of your heart with a simple hot meal. Jungkook realizes that he really is dense when you don’t answer the door for the twenty minutes that he knocks. When you do open up, he feels even more dumb.

Just twenty minutes ago, he wired you twice the amount of the worth you estimated your aunt’s ring to be. Combined with the pitiful amount Hyejoo wires you, it’s then do you realize that you’re not fazed by money. The initiative is there, sure, but the ache in your heart hasn’t subsided completely.

You do miss Jungkook. It does tug at your heartstrings to see and hear him beat himself up over and over again the more you realize that you’re attached to your aunt’s memories rather than the ring itself, but just two nights away from each other won’t absolve everything he’s done and failed to do.

When you open the door, you’re greeted by the sight of your husband who tries far too hard for his own good. Melancholy isn’t a good look on him because he looks the most unkempt he’s ever appeared in two days than the two years you’ve been living with him under the same roof.

Jungkook waits for you to register his attempt, holding up a hot bowl with his bare hands that you resist the urge to take it from him for a second. His ring finger’s occupied by a cheap mood ring, rapidly turning red at the moment from the heat of the bowl.

You look down fully expecting to be swayed even just a little bit, but when you do, you feel the kick to just slam the door right back.

“I hate runny eggs,” you scowl. “Two years married and you don’t even know how I like my eggs cooked.”

Jungkook wants the ground to swallow him whole. 

He wishes that if it was true that chickens are the last true descendants of dinosaurs, there’d be a chicken the same size as them that pecks him into oblivion.

He hurriedly turns on the stove and scoops up the egg back into it, careful not to have any of the runny folk get on your meal. He itches in frustration, his ring finger that’s temporarily adorned with a cheap and clunky mood ring being accurate by turning blue in sadness.

Jungkook’s so out of it, so disappointed in himself that he doesn’t notice he cooks the egg until it’s burnt, the char of it reflecting how poorly he thinks of himself now.

It’s like when you were disappointed in him that time when his outlandish aunt made a rude comment about you and you were speechless the whole night that he stayed silent. He remedied it by later groveling at your feet and marching to his aunt and laying out all of his intentions for her to grow up and apologize to you, the same aunt that’s now blacklisted from all the gatherings.

It’s like when you were upset at him when he left abruptly in the morning and didn’t tell you where he was going because he didn’t know if you would care, partying it up in a different country for his friend’s bachelor’s party and coming home a day later with you hot on his heels. Jungkook made it up to you by once again apologizing profusely and updating you on his whereabouts since then (sometimes he gives too much information), always making it a point to bring two powerbanks with him so he can text you when he’s left and arrived.

This time though, he doesn’t know how exactly to make it up to you. He’s been in contact with professional divers to try and look for the ring for you, but he can’t be of much help until he comes along to know for sure. He’s thinking of all these different ways and approaches but he’s unsure if any of them are sufficient enough to rectify his mistake.

Jungkook feels pathetic because he swears he loves you and knows everything about you, but here he is — crying about how he doesn’t even know how you like your eggs cooked.

You’re upset at him, and he can’t do anything right for you.

( ♡ )

Jungkook tries again at dinner.

It’s the day of Meridian’s 100th anniversary and the two of you play it up for the cameras, your husband’s attention on you so keen and affectionate that you almost forget you were supposed to be mad at him.

He takes advantage of the cameras during the carpet session, tugging you close with his hand on your waist as he seizes the chance to hug you tightly at the end when you enter the hall with no cameras in place. He breathes you in as he always does, hesitant to let you go and exhale because you’re the very scent and existence of love.

Jungkook studied, of course he did. He’s touched up on his jewelry knowledge because he’s more than desperate now to seek your validation, nervously smiling all around as he waits for people to stop approaching you in your table.

His attention’s fixed on your necklace, the stone on it similar to the very ring he lent and lost. He’s brought it up about five times already, animatedly reciting trivia about it as if you’re not the literal face of the jewelry industry. He clears his throat, leaning in for you to whisper intimately, but just loud enough for the other people to hear a tad. 

“Ah, that pink sapphire looks so good on you, babe.”

“Shut up,” you mutter sharply, making Jungkook’s heart skip a beat. You melted against him when he was hugging you, that much he was sure of. He doesn’t know why you’ve become harsh again all of a sudden, forgetting that his lapse this time was opening his mouth. “Stop saying that.”

“Saying what?” his brows furrow, swallowing the lump on his throat. “Pink?” he guesses, eyes wavering as he tests the waters. “Pink sapphire?”

It takes a lot in you not to make an outburst. Truth be told, you’ve started easing up on Jungkook but his attempts at trying hard is just too much and in the wrong direction, hearing pink sapphire over and over again reminding you of the ring you lost.

“Yes, that! Stop talking.”

“But I did my homework! Of course I’m not gonna stop talking,” he defends himself, the nervousness rising to his throat like bile. God, what if he did the wrong homework? What if he’s missed the assignment all along?

“Clearly you didn’t try hard enough because you’re wrong, Jungkook. This isn’t a pink sapphire — this is a pink diamond.”

Jungkook’s brain stops functioning for a solid five seconds, his mouth drying. The only proof that he was still breathing is his big eyes threatening to water.

“And so is my ring that you gave to your friend without asking me,” you add.

“What?!” he sputters in disbelief, recounting to all the other times he named the gem in multiple occasions even before today. “B-but I said it so many times before! You didn’t even correct me!”

“I didn’t correct you because you looked so proud of yourself!” you exclaim, surrendering with a sigh. Pink sapphire was the first gem that Jungkook had managed to name in your trivia night on the first month of your marriage, his avidness on getting it “right” so contagious that you didn’t have the heart to correct him.

“Pink sapphire is dirt cheap compared to pink diamonds, Jungkook! You just keep saying sapphire over and over again because it’s your birthstone,” you mumble, looking around to see if there were any people growing nosy at your conversation. “I let you say it over and over again to the point that I wore them instead of diamonds because you just can’t shut up about them,” you grit. 

This is the only time you reference your sentiment with the jewelry itself in words, your last profession of your disappointment in him being the removal of your wedding bands.

 “That’s the thing with you — you can’t tell. This isn’t just about emerald o-or octagon cuts, Jungkook. This is our marriage and you gave a girl that I don’t like my ring that meant so much to me! Now you can’t get it back.”

Jungkook’s speechless, holding back tears. You fear you’ll cry yourself when you look at his round, pleading eyes so you don’t, squeezing in the last word even if he always lets you have it.

“And now I’m correcting you because you’re embarrassing me. Now please, lay off with the gem terms.”

( ♡ )

Things have been tame between you and Jungkook.

You’ve aired out your grievances and Jungkook’s still trying hard as always, perplexing you because he hasn’t gone restless. It’s progressively warmer between the two of you but it’s nowhere near to what the two of you used to be, the air between the two of you going static that you’ve utilized it for your own.

It’s just a quick getaway for the day, hopping aboard a yacht with the intention of giving yourself a break. You’ve reflected enough but not alone with yourself, the period of space with Jungkook being much-needed.

Until you’re mistaken of course.

You think your mind’s playing tricks on you when the boat rocks more than it would with waves, but the all too familiar figure coming into your vision turns out to be real. It’s Jungkook in the flesh, wearing his scuba suit and gear.

It’s a pure coincidence that is. All Jungkook knew was that you were going on a yacht today and you didn’t specify where; meanwhile, all you knew was that he was going to be scuba diving, but he didn’t specify where either.

It’s purely kismet but your bodyguard Taehyung doesn’t seem to think so, legitimately thinking it was a pirate instead of your husband so he repeatedly smacks him with an oar until you stop him.

“Jungkook!” you call out, getting your bodyguard to stop. Atleast he has the decency to look sheepish, but he was genuinely concerned! He thought you were being hijacked by someone dressed in the most unassuming scuba suit, holding a plastic bag in his hands.

Your husband barely winces from the pain because he’s high from all the adrenaline, chest rising rapidly in succession. “Y/N, baby, I — hold on, I’m gonna, wait-…”

He looks tired still but there’s a light to him, either his radiance has come back or it was just the sun behind him but either way, it was nice to look at Jungkook who isn’t groveling at your feet for once.

He finally catches his breath, standing up to his full height as he tries not to ramble his words.

“I bought all the fish.”

“You did what?” your eyes widen, pathetically looking at the vast ocean around you. Perhaps you’re so startled (and amused) by Jungkook’s sudden and silly appearance that you forgot to apply common sense, just as breathless as he is.

“Okay maybe not all, but I did buy a lot of fish,” he concedes, nodding incessantly. He’s too excited that he can’t contain himself, even more-so when you finally look at him without disdain staining your features.

“For what?” you ask, genuinely curious.

Jungkook smiles, never having been more proud retelling you his previous failure.

“Your favorite seafood restaurant? I bought them their stock, provided that they’ll open up every last fish in there to see if they had your ring,” he shrugs as if it’s a common thought process to abide by, later shaking his head. “They don’t.”

If there’s just one trait that Jungkook had to be known with by everyone, it would be his persistence.

Jeon Jungkook is endearingly, cloyingly, and annoyingly persistent with the things he desires and the things he’s passionate about. You’re his wife — you’re his every last desire and passion. He had wronged you fresh from a week and some days ago but that timeframe has already given him ample time to fully redeem himself.

He can’t undo what he did. He can’t reverse the time he lent his wife’s ring to his friend who loses it not a full day later. Jungkook can’t take back any of the things he did but what he can do is be dedicatedly persistent in correcting himself.

He’s tanner, his muscles are bulged and straining, and his skin’s itchy with all the salt but he takes all of these things in stride — he’s become a better person through persistence.

“I also tried snorkeling for a week and I still couldn’t find it,” he trails, biting his bottom lip while he clasps his hands behind his back. “But I tried again today.”

It’s either relief or endearment that fills your face full, but nonetheless, the light that Jungkook sees from you lulls him to the comfort and warmth he’s been yearning from you for the past week. His eyes are strained and his body feels itself moving in waves as if he was still underwater, but he just closes his eyes to savor the moment.

You bound to him to put him in an embrace, your husband instantly melting in your hold. It’s either all the salt in his eyes or it’s just the realization that you’ve finally forgiven him and it’s all the love he feels for you, but either way, you hold Jungkook tighter.

“I found your ring.”

( ♡ )

You don’t know when Jungkook first loved you.

You can’t pinpoint an exact moment when Jungkook started acting differently towards you because he’s always been the same way from day one, the same qualities that make him both annoying and endearing having been there from the start.

You could always ask but you can’t bring yourself to. It shouldn’t bother you at the end of the day because the important thing is that Jungkook loves you. He loves without reservations, the pinnacle of his love language being his patheticness in trying hard.

Jeon Jungkook may try hard for everyone, but he tries the most for you.

He wakes up early and you only realize his absence when you turn to pat the warm space he’s supposedly left behind, making you rub the sleep out of your eyes. 

You wonder for a second that if Jungkook left the bed early and is quiet at the moment, he’s probably at the bottom of the staircase again because he yawned while going down. There’s no schedule today for either of you and you aren’t sick for him to make any sudden trips downstairs, his absence making you wonder this time.

There’s clanging coming from the garage, piquing your interest largely. There sits Jungkook wearing less safety gear that you’d like, blocks and blocks of wood surrounding him.

Your husband looks up, unassuming as usual while he breaks out into a grin.

“I’m making furniture for you.”

“That’s not necessary,” you snort, recounting all of the pieces you’ve acquired from your friend who’s an expert on woodcarving. Jungkook seems to know this too but he’s insistent, shaking his head eagerly.

His eyeglasses (his prescription ones instead of the actual safety ones) fog up from both his sweat and the few tears he’s shed out of frustration, taking them out so you could see the passion in his eyes. The passion’s definitely there, dampening his eyelashes and even tinting his eyelids pink.

“No, I’ll paint it up real good and it’ll blend it to your aesthetic.”

“Besides that, Jungkook,” you warn, coming down to squat on the space beside him. “You’re not good with tools.”

“Not good at them like Hoseok?” he questions, raising his brow. He’s frustrated and cranky and he just compared his (eager yet improper) use of large power tools compared to Hoseok’s expertise in using much, much smaller tools. Jungkook’s sweaty from all the effort, vaguely gesturing to the item in front of him. “Please, can Hoseok do it like me?” 

Your husband points to the lopsided bench (?) slash coffee table (?) slash abstract piece (?)  in front of you whose message is that they’re tired, only the scoopers for faux blood missing. It’s quite the spectacle. Not necessarily a statement piece because it raises more questions than any resolute takeaways at all.

“No, not really,” you joke around, winking to get the joke across your husband’s skull who sometimes reads between the lines too literally. “He can do it much, much better than you.”

“I’m trying to be romantic!” Jungkook whines with no real harm. “Go ahead, why don’t you divorce me and marry him because he’s so good with using a hammer?” 

The two of you were back; the same playfulness and warmth rekindling, if not stronger. Some things were just too strong to grow out of, such as Jungkook’s double takes when it comes to another name being linked to you.

He’s just making sure, still as desperate to gain your validation even before the ring incident took place.

“That was… a joke if you couldn’t tell,” Jungkook laughs robotically, eyes narrowing and widening at you every two seconds. “I’m just kidding. You knew that. You wouldn’t do that… right?”

You wouldn’t.

He knows that you love him. He had known it during his state of vulnerability and he knows it now even in a state of security. He knows it even without a wedding ring, your promise of making new ones for the both of you remaining in his mind.

The downfall of Jeon Jungkook wouldn’t be his persistence that also bears the ability to be his uprising, it was never that. Jungkook’s downfall would only be the loss of you and it’s the only absence that he can’t risk.

Your husband tries so hard that it brings you secondhand embarrassment at times, his mishap with the pink sapphire cementing in your mind just how much of himself he dedicates to you, even with lapses along the way.

Jungkook tries so hard that he ends the day with splinters on his hand and his sinuses clogged with far too much dust. His effort doesn’t always equate to the best but he gives what he always has when you’re in the equation.

It’s a wooden box for your rings, a shallow heart with your initials carved on the inside. It’s smooth even without the varnish, a stark contrast to his hands that are all rough from doing all the labor.

“I can’t give you jewelry that you already have.”

Jungkook admits to you whole-heartedly, sitting at the end of the bed while he watches you admire the box in your vanity.

“But I can make shirts for you. Stitch up your name real nicely on my chest pocket,” he offers, the smile on his lips growing. “I can make furniture for you,” he shrugs, chuckling at himself. “I can’t guarantee that it’s usable but I can make furniture a little.”

You smile so warmly that Jungkook forgets all of the little pains, melting away his fatigue. If you could put all the love you have for Jungkook in a single space, even the mansion the two of you reside in won’t be enough.

“Cooking too. I can also cook a-and make perfect rice and I promise to remember how you like your eggs in the morning.”

Jungkook knows it to heart by now, even without the reminder he’s written himself pasted on the counter. Your eyes were just so glossy and moist that Jungkook can’t help but to spring to your side, patting them dry with his shirt.

Your husband wipes away your tears even before they could form and it pushes them out further, the voice in your throat dwindling. It’s the cheap and rusting mood ring on his ring finger that gets you to sob, seeing the faint green outline that it leaves.

He takes notice of your observation, understanding that jewelry means much  more to you that he could comprehend which is why he’s quick to remedy your thoughts.

“I can always get tattoos of you if that’s what you want,” he continues, smiling sheepishly. “Actually, that’s what I want.”

Jungkook takes off his ring and it forces you to blink away your tears, lips parting open when it clicks.

It’s your initials on Jungkook’s ring finger, recognizing it as your own handwriting. 

You’re filled with a great amount of gratitude that runs even deeper than the ink on Jungkook’s skin, making you sniffle and it gets him to bury your face against his chest while he shushes you.

“Why would you get that?”

It belatedly hits you that since you took your wedding bands, your husband’s left ring finger had not been vacant since. 

“Because you sold our rings,” Jungkook shrugs, the look of ease on his face evident. “You sold them but we’re still married to each other,” he gently kisses your temple, letting you hold his hand to look at the tattoo closer. “We’re married. I still want people to know that I’m married to you.”

“Well,” you clear your throat, distraught with your emotions. “Your mood ring says you’re sad.”

“Passionate would be the term,” he sniffles, transferring the cheap ring to your finger. He giggles when it changes colors immediately, the timing of the situation being impeccable. “Okay now my ring says you’re happy.”

“Are you?” he asks whilst laughing but the both of you know it bears a weight.

“I am,” you answer just as seriously. “We’re okay, Jungkook. I forgive you.”

If you ask Jungkook what would his greatest joy and his greatest pain be, both answers would be you.

“Is your tattoo artist still around?” you ask while he puts you close to his chest, snapping him out of his trance.

“What for?”

“I think I want to match your permanent ring.”

“Are you real?” he mutters to himself, questioning your existence that he still isn’t sure if he deserves to have and love for the rest of his life. “Are you really real? You exist?”

“Yeah, he’s still around but I’d rather do it on you myself,” Jungkook answers eventually, returning the question. “Is that okay? Let me learn for a few months and I’ll tattoo my initials on you myself?”

You furrow your brows, not a single doubt placed on you if your husband was the one to tattoo you. “Yeah, but is that okay with you? You’re the only one who’s gonna have me on you for a couple more months. I can’t reciprocate because you want to ink me yourself.”

Jungkook only smiles, the warmth enough to outshine the sun.

“That’s not new to me,” he reassures you. “I loved you even before I married you.”

[vivwritesfics]

Poly!Landoscar where they’re on winter break and reader takes them to her home town which is super snowing, ski/snowboard village type vibe? (I’ve got Colorado in my head for some reason🤣) Maybe she’s got a really big family and they all share a cabin for a holiday in the winter?

Making my way through blurb requests tonight (don't be surprised if this is the only one I end up doing)

Snow. It didn't often snow in England, where Lando spent a lot of his Christmases before he met his partners. It didn't snow where Oscar was from, either.

So, when Y/Ns family invited the boys up to the family cabin in Denver, they jumped at the chance. A snow day was exactly what they needed this Christmas.

With the length of the flight, Y/N, Lando, and Oscar decided it best to spend at least two weeks up there. A week with Y/N's family and a week in the cabin.

During their week in Y/N's home, the three of them shared Y/N childhood bed. It was a squeeze for the three of them, who were used to one of those bigger than normal beds. But it was cosy and comfortable in the cold climate that the boys weren't used to.

Lando and Oscar were like kids out in the snow. Lando threw snowballs as Oscar tried his best to build a snowman (but Lando kept aiming for the snowman, hitting the head off of the body). When Oscar was finish, Y/N came out with a spare hat and scarf. She wrapped it around the snowman, standing back to admire Oscar's work.

On the second week on their holiday, the throuple, along with Y/N's parents, set off for their holiday cabin. Y/N's siblings and families were to meet them their. Her brother and her sister both had families of their own, partners they had married and a gaggle of kids each.

Y/N had warned Lando and Oscar about the gaggle of kids on the drive up. "They are wild, feral demons," she said, driving behind her parents. "Don't let them bully you, okay? Because, you show one sign of weakness, and they'll be on you."

"Should we be scared?" Asked Oscar. When Y/N drove (which wasn't very often, only when they were in the states for insurance reasons), Lando would be in the passenger seat and Oscar would be in the back. If it was Oscar driving, Y/N was beside him and Lando was in the back. And, if it was Lando, Oscar was in the front with him.

"Terrified, more like," Y/N answered as the cabin came into view.

The cabin was a part of one of those skiing villages. It was owned by the entire family, Y/N's parents, aunt and uncles on both sides. They just had to stay coordinated enough to ensure it was being evenly shared.

Y/N parked up beside her parents. "Game plan is we settle in and hit the slopes," she said and pushed open the car door.

The boys grabbed their things from the back of the car. They didn't let Y/N carry anything as she led them into the cabin, following her parents.

When they got inside, Y/N's parents were stood in the foyer. "We've been thinking," said Y/N's mother as the boys set their things down, "that, because there are three of you, you guys should get the master bedroom."

Y/N's brows furrowed. "Are you sure?" She asked them.

With his jaw clenched, Y/N's father nodded his head. "Just remember, we'll be in the room next door," he said, staring past her, at Lando and Oscar.

After they unpacked their things, Y/N took the boys skiing. They started on the easiest slope, since Lando and Oscar didn't have as much skiing experience. They had some, but not a lot.

Once the skiing was done, Y/N took Lando and Oscar to the café in the skiing village. She'd been going there since she was a kid, most of the staff being friends she knew from high school.

After ordering three rounds of hot chocolate, Y/N joined the boys by the window. As she sat down, they were by the window, watching as the snow fell. "This is amazing," Lando muttered as he cupped his hand around his hot chocolate.

***

Y/N's siblings had arrived that evening. It had taken the kids three hours to break Lando and Oscar.

Y/N and her siblings had all been ice skating since they were children. The sisters had played hockey while growing up and now the kids did the same.

As soon as they'd met Lando and Oscar, the kids had been trying their best to get them to take them skating. It didn't matter that they couldn't skate, but it was what the kids wanted. They'd been screaming, jumping up and down on the sofa as they screamed at Lando and Oscar.

And then the boys agreed.

The kids settled down for the night, with the promise of going skating the next day.

The skating... wasn't going well. Lando and Oscar were like bambi on the ice, with the kids skating circles around them. They were tripped up, falling flat on the facing several times.

Y/N's laugher wasn't helping. She stood on the side lines, watching and high fiving the kids as the skated past her.

And then she got onto the rink. "Osc, grab a hold of Lando," she said as she grabbed Lando's hand. Oscar placed his hands on his shoulders as Y/N began skating backwards, pulling them along. She was constantly looking around, keeping an eye on her nieces and nephews.

They managed to trip her up once, with her, Lando and Oscar falling into one pile. But they didn't mind, the three of them erupting into giggles. "Kind of the best snow day ever, right?" She asked and leaned forward to kiss Lando.

She kissed Oscar, too, the kids behind them letting out a series of 'ew's.

[probablyasocialecologist]

Degrowth is not a monolithic alternative to the existing capitalist status-quo; rather, it encompasses ‘a matrix of alternatives’ which ‘opens up space for human creativity.’ Imagining and assembling a degrowth future, then, is an invitation to adventure into a plurality of possibilities. At the roots of a degrowth society, this matrix of alternatives might be made up of community land trusts, community gardens, woodlands and farms, community energy initiatives, cooperatives of all kinds, artists’ collectives, fair trade, food justice or food sovereignty groups, alternative currencies, not-for-profit community and social enterprises, systems of local exchange, tool libraries, seed libraries, repair cafés, voluntary arts groups, community heritage groups and climate or environmental action groups, among many other examples. The question is how to cultivate this degrowth potential, opening up opportunities and non-commodified spaces for individuals, groups and communities to connect, organise and create lasting change.

The Carrying Stream: Towards a Plurality of Possibilities

[argyrocratie]

Solidarity among the Displaced

How Russian Anarchists in Exile Supported Armenian Refugee Squatters

(2023-09-19)

Throughout the world, mass displacement is accelerating as climate catastrophe, economic crisis, and war drive millions into exile, both within their own countries and across borders. These mass migrations are exacerbating gentrification, driving up housing costs just as real estate speculation is rendering more and more people homeless. How can displaced people continue to take political action in their new homes, establishing solidarity across ethnic lines in unfamiliar settings? In Armenia, Russian anarchists living in exile set one example, supporting Armenian refugees who had squatted the abandoned Ministry of Defense.

(...)

In the last decade, Yerevan saw several waves of protests. Do you see people building historical knowledge and experience from one struggle to the next?

With regards to the movement of the 2010s in Yerevan, there really was a street movement in which Armenian anarchists participated. There were protests against the increase in electricity prices, an anarchist bloc participated in a demonstration on human rights day, there was an action against the gentrification of Yerevan, and an action of anarcho-feminists. But unfortunately, all of the people from that generation have either left politics, joined political parties, or gone abroad to Russia or Europe.

Today, the anarchists in Armenia are mostly emigrants from the Russian Federation. In fact, I only know two Armenian anarchists: N—, a punk musician (who became an anarchist in the early 2020s), and S—, an anarcho-feminist who lectures in our space and occasionally publishes in left-wing and anarchist magazines (who also became anarchist around that time). Neither them, alas, was connected to the movements and affinity groups of the 2010s.

There is also an anarchist from Israel: Y—, a Jewish woman who gave birth in the Crimea, repatriated to Israel, lived there for 18 years in kibbutzim and participated in the anarchist movement there (including contact with “Anarchists Against the Wall”), married an Armenian and moved to Yerevan, and decided to establish a café here with anarchist and feminist themes. The café became a gathering place for the local Jewish community (for example, at Shabbat celebrations every Saturday), as well as for the creative intelligentsia, who held public readings there.

All this continued until Russia invaded Ukraine, after which the Russian authorities began to persecute their citizens even more, and hundreds of thousands of anti-war Russians (including anarchists) fled the country.

As a result, Armenia, which was mono-ethnic for almost all the years of its independence, is now more diverse.

The door of the Mama-jan café. The second sticker says “No war” in Russian.

That is how our small circle was formed, which now represents the entire anarchist movement in Armenia.

There are many different people among us. One is actively involved in veganism and even founded his own vegan cooperative (which I also joined). Others, like one friend who is a Christian anarchist, collect humanitarian aid for the victims of the war. There is a queer anarchist group that continues to engage in street activism.

How did you go about supporting the squatters?

As soon as we learned that they had been forcibly evicted, we decided to go and help them. We went to them several times and, despite some initial distrust, my friends managed to find a common language with them.

As a result, at the next weekly meeting, we discussed how to go about supporting them. One of the sympathizers of anarchist ideas, a visitor to our circle, arranged to supply firewood for using potbelly stoves to heat their tents. Also, as an anti-war activist with certain connections, I managed to invite a journalist friend there. During a subsequent visit, they met us very hospitably. We helped to unload the firewood and they fed us and taught us to play backgammon.

We made a report about the situation for emigrant Russian-language media, which later played a very important role. We also established contact with the charitable organization “Ethos,” which was founded by relocators in Yerevan and is engaged in helping both Ukrainian and Armenian refugees.

Thanks to the fact that news coverage appeared about the eviction and was reposted on our initiative via various publishing houses (for example, in “Doxa,” which actively covered the persecution of anarchists and anti-war protesters), we were able to initiate a collection for food, medicine, and fuel in Ethos. In the end, we collected 60,000 drams more than planned! [The equivalent of approximately $157, still a significant amount of money for some refugees in Armenia.]

Also, the squatters began to actively invite us to their protests: they held these every Thursday and every Monday near the government building and the State Expenditure Committee. My friends and I held a poster reading “State, why did you take away people’s housing” with anarchist symbols.

The squatters were very pleased with our support, and even invited us to barbecues—which was especially ironic in the case of our vegan friend.

What do anarchists have to offer to struggles for housing?

Anarchism, in principle, throughout its history, has been very interested in the housing issue. It is not for nothing that during the Paris Commune, one of the revolutionary decisions of the council was to settle homeless Parisians in the apartments of bourgeois emigrants who had fled to Versailles, and to establish a ban on evicting tenants for non-payment of rent. Housing insecurity is a significant aspect of modern society, a challenge to which anarchists must respond.

The example of this eviction is particularly striking. It shines a light on all the absurdity and immorality of a civilization based on private property.

_

The house was not built by its owner. It was erected, decorated, and furnished by innumerable workers—in the timber yard, the brick field, and the workshop, toiling for dear life at a minimum wage… Who, then, can appropriate to himself the tiniest plot of ground, or the meanest building, without committing a flagrant injustice? Who, then, has the right to sell to any bidder the smallest portion of the common heritage? On that point, as we have said, the workers are agreed. The idea of free dwellings showed its existence very plainly during the siege of Paris, when the cry was for an abatement pure and simple of the terms demanded by the landlords. It appeared again during the Commune of 1871, when the Paris workmen expected the Communal Council to decide boldly on the abolition of rent. And when the New Revolution comes, it will be the first question with which the poor will concern themselves. Whether in time of revolution or in time of peace, the worker must be housed somehow or other; he must have some sort of roof over his head. But, however tumble-down and squalid your dwelling may be, there is always a landlord who can evict you… Refusing uniforms and badges–those outward signs of authority and servitude–and remaining people among the people, the earnest revolutionists will work side by side with the masses, that the abolition of rent, the expropriation of houses, may become an accomplished fact. They will prepare the ground and encourage ideas to grow in this direction; and when the fruit of their labours is ripe, the people will proceed to expropriate the houses without giving heed to the theories which will certainly be thrust in their way–theories about paying compensation to landlords, and finding first the necessary funds. On the day that the expropriation of houses takes place, on that day, the exploited workers will have realized that the new times have come, that Labour will no longer have to bear the yoke of the rich and powerful, that Equality has been openly proclaimed, that this Revolution is a real fact, and not a theatrical make-believe, like so many others preceding it. -Peter Kropotkin, The Conquest of Bread

[wolven91]

The Predator Café - Chapter 6

Pip couldn't help but doze.

Oh sure, he'd panicked something terrible at first, Natasha had grasped him in a vice-like grip and pulled at Pip until he was pressed against the outside of her t-shirt. But after a moment of taking a breath and note of what actions he could take to free himself; her grip had lessened some, only to tighten again when he took any movement to try and extract himself.

Eventually he simply accepted his 'fate' and, once he'd calmed down, she was surprisingly gentle in her unconscious state. One hand was wrapped around his body while the other roamed periodically; either covering her hand, resting atop of his head or idly scratching at his neck. It didn't take long for Pip to completely drop his notion that she may hurt him whilst lying like this, even unintentionally. She had repositioned several times, each time supporting his body first and foremost, before flopping back down. It jarred him when she fell back down, but otherwise he'd never felt so safe.

He realised that his worries of her Predator status had made its way far lower down on his mental anxiety list at some point. When did that happen?

He had to admit that in the last few hours he had started to trust her completely.

Not just the blind desire or even awe that ran through him, but actual trust and faith that this Human was safe. She was a Predator that broke all conventions which were established as the four cornerstones of his society. She was a signal that the way things were, weren't destined to 'always be'.

The social dividing line he had thought of; was no longer defined and certain. These 'titan apes', they could change the world for the chintians. They could change The Spiral in its entirety. They already had in some ways.

Pip couldn't put his finger on why he had felt so drawn to her, even objectively as a Prey. Sure, she was intimidating in the first instance, their outward characteristics screamed 'dangerous', but when they spoke? When they showed their inner thoughts? It almost made perfect sense that they were both herbivore and carnivore before she had ever told him. They had that 'other side' to their aura, not just religiously sectioned into one group or the other.

The cintian was currently laying atop her, his hands over hers, laying directly on top of her solar plexus, his feet resting against her pelvis while his head rested between... His ears warmed rapidly. The air was humid and mildly stale from being under the covers, but the heat was lovely. He was used to the warmer weather of his home planet but had previously come to the conclusion that he'd have to live in the colder, wetter climate to attend a good college. Now he was laying on a living hot stone that was soft and warm and beautiful in every way he could think of. He couldn't help but smile unashamedly to himself, a goofy grin that pulled at his cheeks in a way that hadn't happened for weeks on end.

The great bellows of her lungs were behind his head, they were impressive in of themselves; but it was her heart that dominated his thoughts.

Pip had seen forces of nature before; from the little things like hurricanes and earthquakes to the supermassive like black holes; consuming systems larger than he could comprehend.

Her heartbeat drew the same emotions from him as these incredible forces did. It was so strong, so powerful; Pip put his fingertips to his throat to feel his own pattering beat, it was humbling to feel hers shake his whole body when he held still enough to notice. It was so slow, so steady it calmed him like no breathing technique ever could.

He sighed as he closed his eyes and returned his hands to hers. The world outside just simply didn't matter while he was here with her.

===

Natasha slept deeply and soundly, unworried by the world.

She had suffered from insomnia back on the station, a mixture of anxiety and poor mental health brought on by the events of Earth’s disastrous evacuation. While the distance from what she had ended up associating with the horrid memories helped, her nightmares still stalked her across the vastness of space to wheedle their way back into her dreams shortly after she began to settle into her new life.

Initially she had left her stuffed rabbit, 'Lucky' on a shelf when she unpacked as a token of her childhood she could put away, but halfway through a sleepless first night, he had miraculously ended up in her arms by the morning. A present from her father due to her unachieved desire for a pet, Lucky had defended her valiantly from the worst of her dreams, but she had still not quite had that kind of sleep that leaves you without need for more the following morning.

She lovingly pressed ‘Lucky’ into her again as reassurance to herself he was still there. 

Natasha was unaware that Lucky had long since fallen to the floor beside the bed and happily kept watch for any monsters that could lurk beneath the bed.

===

Several hours passed as they slept with one another. Neither thinking of anything other than restful sleep and gentle dreams.

Natasha usually worked the late shift at the Café on Fridays, it wasn't unusual for her to sleep long into the Saturday without issue. Pip on the other hand had no excuse of working late for his many previous Saturdays that he’d slept away. He often found that if he had no particular reason to leave his bed, he wouldn't do so. Even to the detriment of his hunger or social life, of what social life he had available to him anyway.

The shadows drifted across the room as the two found something unidentifiable within each other, and while neither would be able to articulate what these were when they woke; they both needed what the other offered freely.

The sun was beginning to dip low by the time both were awake again. They handled the various needs that had arisen in their long rest which had accumulated in Pip currently being sat on the kitchen counter using the various pots and pan drawers to climb up, while Natasha leant against the wall waiting for the pasta and home-made sauce to cook properly.

===

“But you can't just put the whole bag of cheese on top, it would drown the flavour?” Pip tried to express to the belligerent human.

“Pip, ya' a lovely guy, but ya' dead wrong. There isn't such a thing as 'too much cheese', ya' either don't have enough or ya' ran out!” She just couldn't understand how he was so perfect in every way, but this was a deal breaker if he didn't enjoy cheese properly. And the proper amount of cheese one was to have on their food was always ‘excessive’. 

“You're going to get gout if you carry on... Wait. Do human's get gout?”

“It's not common, but yeah, this is why I try to home cook. I'll be healthy, but in return I get to feed my habit.”

“But that's not health-” Pip's response was prevented by a series of rapid heavy bangs against Natasha's front door. They conveyed a serious need for an immediate response.

Pausing to turn off the hob, Natasha left the kitchen to go and answer the door. It wasn't hard for Pip to listen to what was happening, but the moment that she opened the door a cacophony of voices started shouting various questions and demands of Natasha. A firm and cold voice that was much clearer than the rest, made itself known. 

“Miss Natasha Ward?”

“Yes?”

“You are under arrest under the suspicion of abduction.” 

“What?!”

Pip could hear the shock in her voice, but he had already launched himself off the countertop. A scuffle out in the hall came next as he rounded the corner and saw that two law enforcement officers, both draconians with bright orange scales and spines cresting their heads, were currently pressing Natasha against the wall of her hall and preparing to apply handcuffs to her.

Natasha, the two officers and a crowd that had formed outside the building on the street, went silent for a moment at the sight of Pip, before a wall of noise erupted as everyone reacted to him. 

“It's true!”

“Pippin!”

“Natasha, over here!”

“What were your plans?!”

A cascade of questions from the crowd alongside an explosion of bright flashes blinded pip and rendered him stunned with his arm up to shield his eyes. He never heard the officers directing staff from outside to come in and remove the 'victim' from the home. As he squinted the world was blocked as a woollen blanket was thrown over him before he was bodily lifted from the ground.

“Make a hole! Out of the way!” He heard from outside, Pip started to shout and thrash in an attempt to free himself. The larger predator was obviously used to handling those of a larger stature so had no issue in manhandling Pip into the back of their waiting squad car as if he were no more than a temperamental toddler. 

The door slammed shut. 

“Get him out of here!” the same voice shouted before the car lurched forwards as Pip extracted himself.

“Nat!!” He shouted into the back window as the crowd of reporters continued to take pictures of both his retreating face and the towel covered head of Natasha as she was escorted into a second squad car.

The two new officers sat in the front were Canids, the one not driving turning back with a 'reassuring' expression.

“It's alright Pippin, you're safe now, you're out of danger.”

“What are you on about!? Natasha is a friend, what is happening?” Pip argued back, he was upset confused and frustrated

The two Canids shared a look before facing front and settling into silence. Pip spluttered to try and find another thread to attack from, but his mind was paralysed with confusion. He settled into a moody silence, readying himself to give the person in charge both barrels of his opinion once he arrived at their destination.

Within 20 or so minutes they arrived at the station, an imposing building that had a flow of a multitude of people coming and going. He was marched inside still with the blanket over his shoulders like he was a traumatised survivor of something. He was finally deposited in an interview room with a promise that they would bring a drink for 'Pippin'.

Pip seethed. He hated that name, only his grandparents still used it and that was only because they found his frustration amusing. No one using 'Pippin' would get their way past his defences.

Before long a taurian made their way inside the room, they were as tall as an average Predator but often seen as ‘motherly’ by certain Prey. He wasn't dressed the same as the the officers, he gave off more of a contractor or medical professional 'vibe' to Pip.

“Well, I'm sure this has been all very scary and worrying, hasn't it dearie?” His tone and voice grated at Pip immediately, he spoke to him as if he were a child or not in full control of his mind.

“Honestly, I was fine until the police kicked down the front door; where's Natasha? What's going on?” He demanded, he was oddly confident in his words, he felt he had the right to be angry and make these kinds of demands in contrast to his usually meek self.

“It's okay dearie, it's okay. Lets breath together, okay dearie? In... and out... Woo Saaa.”

 Pip stared a hole into his forehead.

The taurian mistook his stillness for compliance. 

“Very good. Now, what's happening is that we've rescued you from that mean old Predator that kidnapped you. We now just need a statement from you and you can get home dearie.”

Pip calmed himself, he had to be careful or Natasha would suffer for his mistakes.

“Natasha and I walked back to her home because it wasn't feasible to use the walkways as the entrance had been damaged.” He paused to take a breath.

“We then fell asleep at her apartment, woke up and she was in the middle of cooking us 'breakfast', as we had risen late. Then you kicked in the door and there was a circus outside the building!”

The taurian hmm'd' and haaw'd' as he spoke whilst nodding in a deranged manner as if hishead was loose on a hinge.

“So, I'm afraid dearie-”

“Stop calling me 'dearie'.”

“So, I'm afraid Pippin...”

Touché.

“I'm afraid you're confused as to what has happened to you recently and that's okay, no one is blaming you. But if I explain what we know is the truth, then that might jog your memory?”

Pip frowned, he knew exactly what had happened over the past day, he suspected he'd never forget these memories for the rest of his days. They were too special to forget or adjust them.

“You were seen leaving an establishment and attempted to make your way home. However, the walkways were sabotaged to prevent your 'escape'. Then the human captured you and took you away against your will. after which we won't speculate what happened next after you arrived at the human's home.”

He removed her glasses and placed them on the table between the two creatures.

“You don't need to be afraid Pippin. The human may not know about how things work out here, but that does not give them free licence to hunt a living, thinking Prey. Thankfully we received an alert that a Predator had snatched a Prey and taken them away. You must be so grateful that the citizen followed her all the way back to her 'lair'.”

“That's not the way of it at all! She grabbed me because it was too far for me to run and not get washed away!”

“I thought you said you walked home with her? Why the change in story Pippin?”

“I-I misspoke, that doesn't mean she's some feral, slobbering Predator, she wouldn't harm a single hair on anyone's head!”

“Its normal to protect your captors after spending time with them Pippin. You get to the point of seeing their struggles from their point of view and as a smart young man who is good and empathetic, it's completely normal to feel the need to cover for her Pippin, but you don't have to. “ 

His jaw ached from gritting his teeth as he repeated his name over and over.

 A pause.

“What you have to do is confirm that she took you against your will.”

“Then we're going to be here for a very long time sir. Everything that happened from leaving the Café until I was snatched by the officers; was consensual.”

“That's not what she's saying Pippin.”

===

“Creatures like you disgust me, you know that right?”

The officer remained in the shadows of the cold interrogation room. Only one of his eyes were visible, reflecting light; it seemed like a glowing marble suspended in the darkness. From what Natasha could tell he was a draconian, his snout was long and thin but the teeth that encircled his jaw left no doubt he was a Predator.

Natasha remained silent. She had made several demands for a lawyer and knew better than to say anything that could be deliberately taken the wrong way until they arrived.

“You think that you can just get away with it because they're small and pathetic? They can't fight back so why not, right?”

The Human rolled her wrists to get blood back into her hands, but otherwise remained silent and still.

“He's already said that you grabbed him without his agreement. We're just waiting on formalities at this point. We're going to throw the whole book at you to make an example of you.”

“Ya’ got nothin’ then.” She couldn't help herself. The moment he started spouting lies about Pip she had to defend him. She could handle whatever they had to say about her, she'd grown up on earth, this wasn't her first interaction with moronic cops, but Pip? She doubted whether he'd ever even spoken to a cop before today.

“It's not going to get easier for you just because you remain silent. It just means you won’t be able to defend yourself lat-” he was cut off as another Predator appeared through the door. A felinoid, if Natasha's memory served her. With spots that covered a short pelt of sandy colours, she looked like a cheetah in a high-powered business suit.

“Out. Now.” There was no mistaking that this was a command, not a request. The officer grumbled but left without delay.

“Ms Ward, I am your lawyer and I need to ask if you've made any statements in my absence?“

Natasha explained in full detail as to her interactions with the officers so far and at prompting; as to how she had met Pip, how he'd returned and they'd hit it off over the course of the evening. 

She'd wanted to see him off, until they found the walkway entrance destroyed.

“Mm, there was a discrepancy in the time the cameras of the walkway go offline and when it was possible for you to have left. Your boss was certain you had worked your full shift, no leaving early. Continue.”

She went on to explain the weather was concerning her with regards to Pip, she had specifically asked him if he was okay with being carried home to ensure he was out of the storm in good time. Natasha had no knowledge of how much of a social taboo carrying one another held in this society.

Her lawyer nodded with understanding before motioning her to go on.

Natasha left no detail out. Their close moments, their questions, how she had touched him with his consent. How she woke up while curled around him in a protective 'big spoon'. All of it.

She had to trust that he would be honest as well; the officers last words repeated themselves around her mind and part of her wanted to believe he had betrayed her. Natasha was used to betrayal, she could handle it, but there was a fragile part of her that had only begun to bloom less than twelve hours ago and now risked being stomped brutally. It was easier to be betrayed than it was to let someone past her walls.

“It seems to me a case a mistaken identity Ms Ward.” The cheetah who's name she just couldn't recall despite being given it only a hour or so ago.

“Throughout the city, there has been a spate of vandalism against little folk's walkways, access points and panic tunnels. Normally petty vandalism doesn't ping on the radar so to speak, however this is following the exact same pattern as last time something like this happened...”

“Somethin’ like this?” Natasha asked.

A sigh and a scratch at her jaw, the lawyer continued.

“Roughly two years ago a series of vandalisms led to the disappearance of multiple Prey. Turns out some Predators decided to make Prey escape paths unavailable, allowing them to set traps and abduct the unfortunate Prey right off the streets.” She waited a moment before deliberately catching Natasha's gaze.

“They ate them, Ms Ward. They sold their meat on the black market and consumed the flesh of their fellow sentients. So perhaps you can understand the panic your actions, however unintentionally, has caused.” She stood up with this revelation.

“You'll be glad to know that I don't think they have a case against you. Unless the Prey you were with has said something to the contrary of your statements, your timeline is just a little too off to match you against the usual MO of this group and since to my knowledge, the Prey you were with is unharmed, there isn’t actually anything they can hold against you. Just a bunch of suspicious events with nothing to charge you with.”

With a farewell and assurances that she will work quickly the lawyer left and Natasha was escorted to an enclosed room with a bed and a hole for a toilet. ‘No sci-fi forcefields here, just metal and walls’ she thought glumly. Laying back on the bed she let her thoughts drift to Pip and wondered if he was in a cell nearby.

She hoped he was okay.

===

Pip was exhausted as he again refused to admit that Natasha had done anything even remotely cruel, evil or untoward.

He'd torn up written statements they'd asked him to sign, he'd shouted down the councillors and now was trembling as he kept his tail straight and ears up at the officer who had just finished his tirade at Pip.

“She's got you eating out of her hand while she gets ready to eat you boy! How does a Prey like you not have that survival instinct?! Where's that healthy sense of what's dangerous and what's not?! How did you even get into the same crowd as her?!”

“Is it illegal to fraternise with someone not of my ‘kind’ officer? Should I be fearful of you? Intimidated, sir?” He countered.

“To the void with it! You want to get eaten? Fine!” the officer shouted at Pip as he left the room slamming the door behind him. Pip slumped into the chair once again.

The chair was an uncomfortable thing, maybe by design or by necessity of cost saving, but with his hands were shaking and feeling light-headed, he needed to rest, which wasn’t going to happen while being forced to sit in this oversized monstrosity.

When the door unlocked, he was keyed up to fight again. He'd kept Natasha in his mind's eye to motivate him. It didn't matter what they said or did, he'd protect her as best he could. But instead of another combatant, an administrator walked in holding his belongings and advised that he was free to go and that was that.

He walked through the building in a daze before being shown the door. It was dark, whether late or early he had no idea. Nor did he have any clue how he was going to get home from here, he wasn't particularly aware of where the nearest public transport hub was until he saw a familiar grey scaled face waving to him from the other side of the street.

As he descended the steps, a crowd of reporters swamped him asking any number of questions that Pip just couldn't be bothered to reply to. When he got to Geegee, the reptile ducked into the waiting taxi and Pip ran to the other side. Climbing in and cutting off the reporters who continued to hound him asking whether he feared retaliation? How did he feel about the threats to his life? Would he trust Predators again?

As the taxi zoomed away from the crowd, he put his head in his hands and tried to uncoil the stress that permeated every inch of his body.

“You’re an idiot.” Geegee stated as a matter of fact.

“I’m not in the mood, Gee.”

“Well tough, I don’t know how you’ve got yourself in this mess, but you need to get yourself out. People are talking now, and you’ve dragged me into it all as well!” Geegee near-shouted with anger bleeding into his tone.

“…thank you for coming to get me.”

“I didn’t want to come here, the Dean himself practically told me to do it so that it was seen that you were a normal Prey, and it was the human that was the weirdo. When they found out I was your ‘closest’ and I use the term loosely, ‘friend’ they wanted me to retrieve you so you wouldn’t say anything that could upset the college!”

Pip looked at the Geckin; Geegee was furious, his entire body language shouted of someone who didn’t want to know Pip. As if being in the same car would ‘taint’ the lizard.

“She didn’t do anything wrong.” Pip said in a small, defeated voice.

“That’s..!” The Geckin started to shout before sighing and beginning again in a calmer voice. “… That’s not the point. You should know better than to go off with Predators on your own. You put yourself in danger like that. They should know better and in an ideal world we could skip off into the sunset; hand in hand, but it’s not like that and it’s still your responsibility to stack the deck in your favour so you’re as safe as possible. Don’t tempt them, it’s rule 1!”

Pip hated this. 

The whole world spoke of how Prey and Predators were equal, that there was nothing to fear, and we were all safe, barring exceptional circumstances. But this was a lie. The moment he tested those beliefs, it was taken that he was in immediate danger. Natasha was branded a threat and he was thought of as a fool.

It was a world of hypocrisy.

“So, you’re done then? You’re going to be safe and never see that human again?” Geegee asked in what was supposed to be a caring tone but had overtures of condescension.

“I need to say goodbye and apologise, but yes, I’ll… I’ll stay away. She won’t want to see me again after this anyway, I’ve ruined her reputation.”

“No you-.. Pip! Just drop her! You owe her nothing, you barely know her!”

“I barely know you! Or anyone for that matter! The most you said to me was after the moment you found out she existed. Then you shit yourself and all of a sudden, she’s not of interest anymore? She and I are… we were friends. I owe it to her at the very least to apologise and I will do so to her face. I refuse to be a coward.” Pip snapped back, frustrated that Geegee seemed to hold the delusion that they were perfect friends, and his opinion was so valued that it could sway Pip easily.

Pip and Natasha’s whirlwind of a friendship wasn’t for nothing. He’d clear his conscience and make sure she knew he never meant for any of this to happen.

The taxi pulled up to the collage as Geegee stated in a cold tone; “Fine. Do the stupid thing, I hope she kicks you across the street because then you might get a clue.” He opened the door and without glancing back, slammed it hard enough for the vehicle to rock back and forth.

Pip typed in the Café’s address for the unmanned vehicle to set off again. He had no idea where she lived, only that it was close to the Café and push come shove, he’d leave a message with the owner. He was bemused that for all the time they spent with each other, they’d never thought to exchange contact details.

His depression coiled around his guts again. He wasn’t alone again yet, but it felt like with his plan to apologise and leave her alone would render him more isolated than before. If he wasn’t an outcast before, he was now.

It was pitch black by the time the taxi settled to the entrance of the Café. Paying the fare, he got out and tried to take a breath, to see if he could get his thoughts in order and figure out what he would say or put in his message.

The street was dark, some of the lights had failed to come on. Out of curiosity he walked over to the walkway entrance and found it repaired, they’d obviously rushed the job with all the press getting involved. Pip dreaded to catch up on how the news had interpreted the whole debacle.

A quiet splash behind him caused an ear to twitch, he idly looked over his shoulder to see, far too late, a heavy boot launching into him. It took him in the side, sending the small mammal cartwheeling into the air before hitting a wall with full force and crumpling to the floor. His back legs kicked automatically to propel him forwards instinctively, he had to get to the walkway, whatever it was attacking, wouldn't be able to get him once he was safely within.

His arms attempted to keep up with his legs as he lurched forwards almost horizontally, none too quickly either as a clawed hand grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled violently. The stitching tore and ripped at the seams, deep gouges appeared in the flesh of his back as the claws missed skewering him by a fraction. He cried out in pain as he tumbled to the floor before kicking again.

He didn’t get far as the boot slammed down on his back, pressing him forcefully down into the wet concrete. His head bounced off the floor and his lights went out. 

===

Natasha was released into a storm of questions, flashes of cameras and shouts of a mixture of anger, disgust and weirdly, support.

Most of the crowd outside were journalists as she could tell. They all demanded of her questions that misconstrued her actions with Pip or outright put a deliberately bad spin on the whole event. Pushing through the first ‘wave’ she was then spat at by the other bystanders who accused her of being feral, of being ‘unfit’ to live in modern society.

The final layer of the crowd came as she stomped away and past a group that had separated themselves from the rest. She had assumed they were going to cause issue for her in some way, but thanks to their shorter stature, she felt that even if they did cause trouble; she could fight back. She’d grown up in the slums, she could handle herself and she fought dirty.

When she passed them however, they whispered rather than shouted.

“..We see you sister.”

She paused a step or two past them but didn’t turn to face them. Her silence was answered with another whisper.

“We’re glad you’re with us sister, worry not, your ‘Prey’ won't escape. When you’re ready, go to the sub-station near the park. Knock once.”

When she turned her head, the group had fled down the alleyway that they had loitered in the mouth of.

A cold chill ran itself down her spine and a horrific feeling of dread washed over her. She had to see Pip now; he’d be at the dorms.

The run there didn’t bother her, she had never been a slouch with keeping fit and with such an urgent need to see Pip she raced as fast as she could. She didn’t feel the burning in her legs until she rounded the final corner to see the multi-species dorms. Pip had discussed where he’d lived with her whilst he ate at the Café, he’d even oh-so-subtly told her how to count the windows to which one was his. At the time she thought it cute that he’d give her a way to find him if she fancied coming to see him, but now she thanked his awkwardness and blatant hope.

She counted the windows as he said and looked through to find a dark room. Using her hands to block all the outside light she could see this room was indeed used and what looked like some of his clothes, but no sign of Pip himself. She checked the next window on, it had a light on and maybe it was a different room of his dorm?

The small Geckin lizard inside very nearly hit the roof in an impressive leap of fear when Natasha’s features appeared in his window.

“I’m sorry, I’m tryin’ to find Pip, I need to apologise to ‘im, I know he’ll probably not want to see me right now and I-I-I know, that’s fine, but I just needed to say sorry and I’ll leave ‘im alone, I promise.”

The Geckin was clutching his chest and breathing heavily before looking disdainfully at the human. He walked over to the window, leaving it closed to shout; 

”He already left to go and see you. He doesn’t want to see you, but he’s too kind for his own good and wants to tell you face to face. I’ll tell him you feel the same way. Now; go!”

He wasn’t here? He’d gone to find her.

Dirt sprayed up the side of the wall splashing the Geckin’s window as Natasha pushed herself into a full sprint. Her boots gouged large divots into the grass of the dorms before she was on tarmac again and sprinting home.

She had lost precious time, the strange whispering Predators wouldn’t leave her thoughts as she forced herself to run, faster and faster. She could almost feel that she was running out of time.

 He’d be okay. He’d gone to say goodbye and then he’d be back to his world, a world being safe. She could live with that.

Reaching her home there was no sign he’d been here. No one had rung her doorbell since she had been taken away earlier that day and there were no notes or messages waiting for her. She ran towards the Café. He’d be there, he’d be waiting for her or talking with her boss maybe?

Getting on to the Café’s street, it was darker than normal. This alone was enough to ring alarm bells in Natasha’s head. She slowed her pace as she approached, just before she reached the walkway entrance Pip would have used, her boots crunched under her weight. Stopping and looking down, she saw a puddle of broken glass.

Looking up; the streetlight was smashed.

This was a tactic she herself had used as a youth. Natasha crept forwards in full alert, eventually she saw the walkway was fully repaired. She frowned though, despite everything looking new, there was already loose material gathering outside it like rubbish. With mounting suspicion and worry she picked up a familiar looking scrap of cloth and brought it into the light of the Café.

Stood outside her place of work and the location of her first meeting of her first alien friend; Pip, she had in her hands the bloody and torn remains of his favourite shirt.

[hardly-an-escape]

you know what this fandom needs? MORE SCIENCE FICTION and also more pining jk but mostly more sci fi.

give me one soft unscheduled meeting that’s ultimately just a blip on the eons-long radar of Hob and Dream.

give me Dream in 2022, rising from the table at the New Inn and saying with a smile, see you in 2089, my friend. and then LEAVING.

give me Hob creating the Inn as a temple to the survival of the human spirit. give me Hob getting really involved in climate change activism and alternative energy. give me Hob, sometimes despairing, investing in civilian space flight start-ups and trying to learn what he would need to know in order to be an asset on a mission.

give me the 2089 meeting, Hob alight with excitement at the possibility of a moon base, and already thinking beyond even that. give me Dream, smiling at the medieval peasant who will soon be sailing among stars. what will humanity think of next indeed. give me Hob, asking tentatively if Dream will still be able to find him in 2189, if his plans work out and he isn’t even on the planet anymore, let alone in the same pub.

give me a 2189 meeting in a deep space capsule carved out of an asteroid. give me Dream putting the whole crew to sleep in order to snatch precious moments with Hob in the cramped common galley. give me Hob in tears as the tries to describe the sight of Earth, more burned and brown than she should be, disappearing by increments on the viewscreen as he heads into the unknown. give me Dream in tears as he listens.

give me 2289 in a café on Mars. give me 2389 on a ship bound for Alpha Centauri. give me 2489 or 2589 or 2689 and Dream smiling ironically: of course I know this place. do not aliens dream too, Hob Gadling?

give me Hob, moving heaven and earth and willing to leave the planet in order for a few more meetings with his stranger. give me Dream, following his friend across the galaxy. I mean COME ON.

[trans-rite]

Last night your mods packed up our altar and brought it to our local anarchist infoshop and café for a beautiful TDOR event. A few dozen of us were squeezed inside the little venue for performances of music, poetry, and dance, and then we took the stage to lead the Rite.

[A photo of an altar set up on a round mirrored table. The altar cloth is a white and burgundy bandanna with images of sunflowers. On the altar are four small glass votive candle holders, each with an image of one of the Ancestor Helping Spirits, and one white pillar candle with a rainbow across the middle of it. There is also a clear glass vase containing white roses and baby’s breath, a blue goblet full of water, a small jar containing a mixture of glitter and ash, a few white and yellow silk daisies, a bottle of poppers, a shooter of lube, and a labradorite amulet. In the background, slightly blurred, are many potted plants.]

Alder started by explaining the origins of the Rite, and how it’s evolved over the years. (We agreed that they would do this part because it needed to be concise and that is one thing that I, Rocket, am not.) Then we spoke the prayer we developed last year for the new format of the rite.

[A close-up of a small glass votive candle holder with an image taken from the Devil card from the Lubanko Tarot, which we use to represent Agdistis. Next to the candle holder is a very small stone dick.]

After we shared the prayer, the group read the names of the family members we’ve lost in the last year. There were 391 names, read by ten community members, and after each reader finished, the crowd shouted “¡Presente!”

Over the course of the night, the entire group collaborated to write each name on a long scroll of paper.

[A scroll of paper stretching the length of a room, unrolled on the floor, with the names handwritten on it. At the end of the paper closest to the camera is a large blue triangle stamp bearing the words “Trans people belong here!” and the date. Many pairs of feet are visible on either side of the paper.]

After the reading of the names was complete, we returned to the microphone. Earlier in the day, the two of us had been talking about how we couldn’t know the names of the trans people killed in Gaza over the last month – over the last decades, really – and wanted to honor them as much as we could, so before we continued with our planned prayers I took the mic and called out, “AND ONE MORE TIME FOR ALL OUR FAMILY MEMBERS WHO WERE SUBJECTED TO A FINAL ACT OF VIOLENCE BY BEING ERASED IN DEATH AND BURIED UNDER THE WRONG IDENTITY AND DENIED THEIR RIGHT TO HAVE THEIR NAMES SPOKEN WITH LOVE INTO COMMUNITY, WE DON’T KNOW YOU BUT WE LOVE YOU, ¡PRESENTE!

AND ONE MORE TIME FOR THE UNCOUNTABLE FAMILY MEMBERS TAKEN FROM US BY THE MASS VIOLENCE, WAR, GENOCIDE, ETHNIC CLEANSING, AND CLIMATE CATASTROPHE BEING PERPETRATED ON ALL THE PEOPLES OF THE WORLD BY A SYSTEM WHICH WE MUST HONOR THEM BY DESTROYING, WE DON’T KNOW YOU BUT WE LOVE YOU, ¡¡PRESENTE!!”

Then we continued with our planned prayers, the Mourner’s Kaddish, the Manifesto of the Order of Charonaea, and closed out with Assata’s Prayer, which we invited the crowd to call-and-response with us. I was heartened when speaking the Mourner’s Kaddish to hear that several people in the room were saying it along with me.

The evening closed out with a Theater of the Oppressed style embodied grieving and hoping exercise, and finally an open invitation to collaboratively bang on the biggest drum any of us had ever seen.

I think the Rite was received well, and we got a lot of really loving and grateful feedback that made us both feel like the Rite has come to a place where it’s both effective and accessible to people at any level of experience, which is what we were hoping. We’re grateful to the organizers for squeezing us in at the last minute and trusting us to bring some weird stuff, grateful to all of you for journeying with us this year, for sending us your asks and your altar photos to let us know that we’re together, and as always, grateful to the Ancestor Helping Spirits for being present with us in the work, speaking to us before, during, and after, having their hands on our shoulders, and welcoming the dead with celebration and love.

May they rest in power. May their memory be a blessing. May they never thirst.

[A photo of an altar set up in a dim room. The altar contains lit candles, art, and offerings, including a piece of slate bearing the Manifesto of the Order of Charonaea in decoupaged magazine cut out letters.]

-- Mod rocket

[wooziorgans]

polaroids || xmh

summary: While moving into a new apartment, Minghao finds an old box full of Polaroids. All of them are with an old band member: Y/N.

genre: angst, fluff, hurt (for right now, no comfort), idol au, gn/male reader, ex!idol reader, written mostly in the form of flashbacks.

a/n: i wrote something like this years ago and decided it would be a good concept for minghao <3. currently i have no real plans besides recounting a relationship that no longer exists, so right now this fic is mainly hurt w no comfort. but we’ll see. this chapter is based off the original so it’s very,,, reminiscent of what a 15 y/o would write and it’s not my best work. also hi, this is my first fic that im posting to tumblr yippee!!

word count: 1.3k

previous | masterlist | next

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.1 .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Most of his apartment was packed. It was time to relocate, something that was almost annual for Minghao at this point. No matter what he was doing, he craved the change in scenery. He had no idea when this habit developed, but if things were too constant he would fall into intense episodes of anxiety. It was a vice; needing constant change was Minghao’s biggest source of impurity.

The small, black box that sat on the shelf was taunting Minghao. He knew what was in it; how could he have forgotten? It was now on the floor of his closet. He closed his eyes softly for a second, to suppress any emotion he would feel as he lifted the box open. Bracing himself, he lifted the lid, breathing deeply. The photo on top was a picture of Minghao and Y/N; both were covered in snow and smiling. Minghao remembered every moment leading up to the Polaroid.

It was one of their first times playing a show up north in America. Y/N and Minghao left the tour bus to explore the snow and get a warm coffee from a café they had both been eyeing since they arrived in Chicago. Wonwoo tagged along, claiming that Seungkwan was being dramatic and needed time alone. Y/N and Minghao threw on as many layers as they could find, both of them not used to the bite of the January winds, or the feet of snow that blanketed the Earth. No one told them that along with snow, there would also be ice.

Minghao’s gloved hand was intertwined with Y/N’s bare one. Y/N had a habit of always forgetting something, especially when it came to the climate. One day it would be gloves, the next would be a scarf. The disruption in routine when it came to new weather while on tour was Y/N’s biggest downfall. Minghao would always scold them for it, worrying that he would get sick in the cold. Y/N listened each time, but these warning would slip his mind shortly after.

“Watch out for the ice,” Minghao breathed into the air of his closet. That’s what he had said all those years ago. It was another warning that went unnoticed.

Y/N didn't see the patch of ice in front of them, nor did they feel it. They hit the ice with a preoccupied foot and landed on their ass in a snow bank. Minghao came down with them, both of them landing on their backs in a snow bank beside the side walk. Flake of snow were falling on Minghao’s face. Y/N rolled over in the snow, overtop of Minghao, now letting the soft flakes fall on the back of their head.

At the realization that Y/N was on top of him, Minghao’s face got darker than it had already been from the cold. He shifted on underneath the weight of Y/N. In a moment of courage, Y/N grabbed onto the collar of Minghao’s jacket. There was a look of horror on Minghao’s face, but that changed as a snowflake fell on the tip of his nose. He smiled as it melted. More fell on his face as the snow fell harder. Y/N, always being the more forward of the pair, began to place small kisses on Minghao’s face where ever the snowflakes fell.

First, it was his nose. Y/N’s warm lips against the tip of Minghao’s cold nose sent hot shivers through his spine. His hands found their way to Y/N’s hips, and pulled them closer in the cold. Y/N backed away from Minghao’s face for a second, a wide smile forming on their face as the snowflakes fell elsewhere on Minghao’s face.

Next, it was Minghao’s forehead. Everything felt so affectionate and warm despite the freezing atmosphere around the two of them; and at that moment, any final contingency of believing that the relationship between Y/N and Minghao was strictly platonic melted away. There was no more dancing around each other, no more ignoring the hidden glances they would take at each other. This had been coming for a long time, and the waiting game was finally over.

Minghao huffed out a breathe, much like he did in the cold of Chicago all those years ago. This time, he could not see his breath as he had when he was laying in the snow with Y/N. The frown on his face was a stark juxtaposition to the bright smile that reflected off the snow.

When Minghao began giggling softly at the sensation of Y/N’s lips on his face, Y/N tilted their head carefully and placed a cautious kiss to Minghao’s cold, soft lips. Minghao froze, a little star struck. Y/N pulled back for a few seconds, breathing a little harder than before. They leaned down again to place another kiss on Minghao’s lips. This time, Minghao returned the kiss, smiling into it. Both of them began to smile even wider, completely oblivious to Wonwoo, who was watching everything that was happening. Wonwoo stood a few feet away on the sidewalk, staring.

Minghao’s hands moved from Y/N’s waist to their neck. Their neck was cold even through the fabric of Minghao’s gloves, and Minghao felt them tense up but ease back into the soft, careful touch that graced their neck. A few short kisses were placed on Minghao’s lips before Y/N pulled back smiling down him and pushed themself out of the snowbank. Y/N offered a bare hand to Minghao, who accepted it. Y/N pulled him up and into their arms. They held each other for a few long moments, trying to absorb each others warmth.

Minghao looked over Y/N’s shoulder as they just stood completely in their own little bubble. Wonwoo was behind their back, looking completely dumbfounded in shock. Minghao smiled at him shyly. "So, is this- uh?" Wonwoo still looked disoriented out of his mind as he tried to speak.

Y/N released their grip on Minghao, turning to face Wonwoo. "Yeah,” they breathe out, a trail of frost following their words. They turn to Minghao, “We’ll have to talk about it later. We can’t really ignore this anymore." Y/N grabbed Minghao’s hand and continued the little amount of distance to the coffee shop. Minghao follows like a puppy.

At one point, he would always follow them. He was the passive one, but he was the stubborn one. At one point, Minghao would have followed them to the ends of the Earth.

He realizes how much time has passed since them. There is no one to follow. Minghao has no directions, even if it’s been years. There are no directions on his GPS to lead him to Y/N. The path with Y/N became a series of wrong turns; he was so sure that Y/N was a wrong turn for years after they parted ways.

Revisiting this box for the first time in two years, Minghao isn’t so sure of that anymore.

"You two are the last two to notice," Wonwoo laughed, “Don’t let your new revelation distract you though, we’ve got a show to play tonight.” Minghao leaned down and placed a small kiss on an exposed part of Y/N’s neck. Both of them were smiling, giddy from the first move finally being made.

‘Click!' Wonwoo snapped a photo of the two of them with his Polaroid camera. They were covered in white flakes, with rosy cheeks and noses from the cold. They looked happy.

“Yeah,” Minghao breathes, “yeah.” The fatigue from the freezing air seems to have found its way back into his lungs. Minghao feels completely breathless, seated on his floor. It’s the same shortness of breath he felt in Chicago, despite doing no exercise. The cold does that to you, it leaves you asphyxiated and dumb. That’s how Minghao feels a he stares at the first Polaroid from the box, which has found its way into his hands.

He feels dumb.

[pony-central]

Winter Lovers - An SMG4 and SMG3 Story (Long Post)

Summary - Eight years ago, the Meme Guardians, SMG4 and SMG3, were both trapped in a cold home, where they went Cuckoo Crazy. Eight years later, they both get a faint memory of the incident.

It was a calm day at the SMG4 Castle. SMG4 was busy working on his latest video, when he had received a quick email from his friend, Mario.

SMG4: Oh, my God. Did Mario seriously send me another email? If it's anything like last time with the love email, then I won't bother with it.

He had recalled what happened last time when Mario had gotten the Love Letter virus, and had sent love letters to all of his contacts. SMG4, shivering in squick at that past email, opened the new one. And, to his surprise, it was an invite.

"Dear SMG4. Mario wishes to send you somewhere from your past. Hope you don't end up trapped again. From, your best friend Mario."

SMG4 was surprised at this sudden invite. He then smiled and packed his things. He thought he was going somewhere nice and cool.

SMG4: HOLY CRAP! Mario sent me an invite. He must know me so well. *sighs* I wonder where I'm off to. Ooh! Maybe it's somewhere like Hollywood, or the Bahamas. Ooh, or maybe Brazil. 😊

He ran out of his room with a suitcase and headed to where the Taxi was. The taxi then drove him off on a long drive to the unknown location.

At the Café, SMG3 was sending out people's orders. The café wasn't that busy, there were only three customers who all ordered lots of coffee. SMG3 was exhausted from sending out coffee. Eggdog barked to get his attention, for the puppy wanted beans.

SMG3: Aww, Eggdog. Business is kind of going slow, eh, little buddy? But, don't you worry about it. Soon we will be filthy rich, and -

His phone bleeped. There was an email for him, too. SMG3 sighed in annoyance as he opened the emails up. It was from Mario.

SMG3: *sighs* Mario, I swear to God, if it's that video of spaghetti being made, you're gonna get it! 😞

SMG3's eyes opened wide as he read the email twice over. It was the same email Mario had sent SMG4, just with SMG3's name instead.

SMG3: *gasps* A free vacation?! Oh, my God, I love vacations! I'll get ready right away. Eggdog, you're in charge while I'm gone. Love you. 🥰

He gave Eggdog a kiss on the forehead and left the café with two bags of luggage. He was smiling from ear to ear, as he put on a pair of sunglasses, expecting to be somewhere warm and cosy.

Back with SMG4, the blue Meme Guardian was wondering where he was going. He noticed it was getting a bit on the cloudy side.

SMG4: Oh, ha ha. Looks like a thunderstorm is approaching. Ha ha. OK, I don't think we're gonna experience sunny skies for the entire week, eh? So, where AM I going for my holiday? Hawaii? Japan? Thailand? Pee Pee Island? 🤩

Swag: We're not going to any of those places.

SMG4: Oh. Then... Where AM I off to? 🤨

Swag: You are going to the Arctic. Hope you have a coat with you.

SMG4: The Arctic? But, that's impossible. Mario said I was going on holiday. 🤨

Swag: You ARE on a holiday... To the Arctic. You might need a coat, or a scarf. It'll be a long while before we get there. 😊

SMG4: OK? But, if I'm off to the Arctic, then where can I go for a bathroom break? 😟

Swag: That won't be a problem.

SMG4: *sighs in frustration* GODDAMMIT, Mario! 😞

SMG3 was in his own taxi, wondering if he was going somewhere nicer. He was relaxing in the back of the taxi cab.

SMG3: Huh. Now I'm wondering where I'm off to. A beach? Scotland? Ooh, maybe somewhere more fancy. 😊

Chris: You're off to the Arctic.

SMG3: WHAT?! But, the Arctic is so cold! How the fuck am I supposed to stay warm if I'm in a cold climate?! 😡

Chris: Wear a coat and scarf. 😊

SMG3: Ugh, typical Mario, sending me somewhere I'm gonna die. 😒

Once both taxis arrived at the Arctic, the Meme Guardians stumbled out of the cars. SMG3 was still in a fussy mood, and SMG4 was green in the face. There were a lot of speedbumps on the way there.

SMG3: Ohhh, why is it so c - c - c - COLD here? I'm freezing! 😫

SMG4: Ugh, that trip was awful. I feel sick. 🤢

SMG3: Whuh - SMG4? Is that you? 🤨

SMG4: S - SMG3? What are you doing here? 😟

SMG3: That's what I wanted to ask you. Why are you here, and... Why am I here as well? 😟

SMG3 then noticed that SMG4 didn't feel so good. The blue Meme Guardian was about to be sick, and that worried the purple Meme Guardian.

SMG3: Oh, man. You OK? 😟

SMG4: No... I feel like I'm gonna throw up. *gag* Too many speedbumps in the road. 🤢

SMG3 sighed. He then shook on the spot, he was freezing.

SMG3: I think it's best if we find some shelter. I'm getting colder by the minute. 🥶

SMG4: Good *gag* Idea. I could use some shelter. 🤢🥶

They both set off to find some shelter. SMG3 looked down and noticed that SMG4 was holding his right hand with his left one, and covering his mouth with his right hand.

SMG3: *mind* Man, SMG4 looks terrible. I should probably assist him while he throws up.

They both looked everywhere, but the couldn't find anywhere warm enough to sleep in.

SMG3: You feeling OK now? 🤨

SMG4: No... *gagging* Oh, God. It's gonna come up! 🤢😖

SMG3: Oh, shit! Don't worry, buddy. I'll be sure to get you somewhere. I promise.

SMG4 smiled a weak smile. They both saw a shadow that looked like an igloo of some sort. SMG4 blushed a bit, remembering the last time he was in an igloo with SMG3, one of his friends.

SMG3: You can't be fucking serious. Is that literally the ONLY shelter in the whole Arctic?! DAMMIT! 😡

SMG4: *gag* I'm gonna throw up, SMG3. 🤢

SMG3: *sighs* Just... I dunno, throw up somewhere in that igloo. I dunno. 🤨

SMG4: What? But, you remember what happened last time, right? 😰

SMG3: Just go ahead. We're, like, ten feet away from it. I'll wait for you until you're done.

SMG4: OK, if you insist.

He stumbled over to the igloo. He opened the door, where he noticed a TV and a toilet. He was relieved to have found a place to throw up. So, he did just that.

SMG4: *ducks over the toilet bowl and retches* Ugh. That feels so much better... OK, I best get out now.

The blue Meme Guardian walked over to the door and turned the doorknob. But, to his sudden alarm, the door was locked. He struggled to get it open, but it was locked from the outside. He heard Mario's laughter from outside, knowing the red plumber was the only one who had a key.

SMG4: What the? MARIO, LET ME OUT OF HERE! 😫

Mario: Mario's not gonna let you out until SMG3 is in there. Sorry. 😊

SMG4: *face-palm* Ohhh, GODDAMMIT! 😫

SMG3 was waiting for SMG4 to be finished in the igloo. When he noticed something was wrong, he walked up to the igloo.

SMG3: Huh. Wonder what's taking him so long. Huh.

He was then shoved into the igloo by Mario.

SMG3: WHAT THE - MARIO!!! 😠

Mario: Mario wants you guys to stay here and relive the incident from eight years ago. You're welcome. 😊

The Meme Guardians were both shocked. SMG4 could only blush, and SMG3 wasn't happy.

To be Continued...

[homomenhommes]

saga: SOUMISSION / DOMINATION 144

Comme promis lors de notre première rencontre avec Alex et Johan (SD 130), notre nouvelle rencontre s'est déroulée chez eux. Comme le temps commence à rafraichir sérieusement et que le climat est incertain, nous y allons avec mon SLS. 5h de route à vitesse autorisée, nous n'en mettrons que 4 car j'ai été très raisonnable dans mes excès de vitesse ! Le GPS nous amène jusque devant le portail d'une grande propriété en bordure de ville. Sonnette, vidéo, le portail glisse et je monte, entre les arbres, une allée en S cachant la maison de la rue.

Grosse maison bourgeoise XIXème avec perron à escalier double qui met le niveau de réception à un demi-étage au dessus du sol. Pas de gens de service, c'est Johan qui descend nous accueillir et prendre nos bagages (petits). Bisous, c'est effarant comme nous nous ressemblons. D'ailleurs Marc lui a déjà mis la main au cul ! Alex nous attend et nous offre de nous rafraichir, passage aux toilettes du niveau. Comme il est l'heure, nous attaquons avec un apéritif. Puis un déjeuner ou je fais attention de ne pas trop manger en prévision du reste de la journée.

Après le café, Alex nous fait les honneurs de leur maison. La cuisine et une bibliothèque / salle de billard manquaient à notre connaissance de l'étage. Au dessus un premier niveau de chambre, seulement 4 mais immenses équipées de lits King size, avec chacune une salle de bain digne du meilleur palace. Au dessus l'étage des commodités, lingerie, et trois chambres plus petites (pour le service quand il y en avait) et une salle d'eau commune, WC. Alex avait gardé pour la fin le meilleur, le sous sol. A demi enterré, d'étroites fenêtres horizontales au ras des plafonds éclairent les pièces. Le quart de la surface de la maison est occupé par une cave et la chaufferie.

Le reste vient d'être équipée à neuf. Nous reconnaissons l'influence de notre salle de sport et de notre donjon dans son aménagement. Nous pénétrons d'abord dans une salle de sport un peu plus petite que la notre mais bien équipé avec au fond les sanitaires, WC séparés mais lavabos et douches communes. Un passage derrière la dernière des douches donne accès à leur donjon. Sous un éclairage plus chiche, nous voyons que bien que plus petit aussi, il doit être capable de recevoir au moins une bonne demi douzaine de mecs.

Excité Marc chope l'un de nous deux par le cou et c'est en lui roulant une pelle qu'il devine qui c'est, et ce n'est pas moi ! Alex me pousse contre un sling, ses mains pétrissant mes fesses. Je le laisse faire un peu. Je déboutonne rapidement mon jeans et il le pousse vers le bas, dégageant le shorty avec et dévoilant mon fessier. Les chaussures volent, le polo aussi et je me retrouve nu installé sur l'appareillage de suspension. Je jette un coup d'oeil vers mon mec. Il s'occupe de remplir de ses 22cm la bouche de mon sosie (et sa gorge par la même occasion). Je n'ai pas le temps d'en voir plus, ma vue est soudain bouchée par l'apparition des 23 x 6 d'Alex qui réclament un abri. ;J'ouvre grand la bouche et le gland d'Alex y progresse sans s'arrêter jusqu'aux couilles. Je maitrise ma respiration et l'envie que j'ai de vomir. Bien que j'ai fait attention au déjeuner, j'ai trop mangé !

Quelques détails triviaux (exécutés dans les toilettes) plus tard, je reprends le taf et supporte sans broncher le ramonage de ma gorge. Absorbé par ma pipe, c'est dans le lointain que j'entends Johan gémir sous les mains et la bite de Marc. ;La bite que je suçais quitte ma bouche et c'est maintenant une langue que je sens sur mon anus. Alex prend le temps de bien me détendre la rondelle. C'est un pro de l'anilingus. Marc c'est pas trop son truc, un peu mais c'est surtout avec ses doigts qu'il me prépare la rondelle. Je ferme les yeux et concentre toute mon attention sur mon oignon. C'est divin. Il fait tourner sa langue ni trop ni pas assez vite, la pointe dans mon trou et y fait entrer de la salive... Je suis tout à l'attente de sensations à venir qu'il va provoquer en moi que je suis surpris de sentir Johan se coucher sur moi en 69.

J'ouvre les yeux sur son sexe et louche sur ses couilles rasée. Il me suce, je ne peux que lui rendre la politesse. Je vois bientôt la queue de Marc, couverte de latex, approcher l'anus de mon alter égo. Je place une main sur chaque fesse et écarte ces dernières pour faciliter le travail. Je sens aussitôt la même chose m'arriver et le gland d'Alex se poser sur ma rondelle. Nos deux hommes se mettent d'accord et en même temps s'enfoncent dans le mec de l'autre. La poussée étant bien égale, le sling ne bouge pas et le coup de rein de Marc en phase terminale pousse le gland de Johan dans ma gorge. Je sens pareillement mon gland dépasser la glotte de Johan dans le même temps ou je sens les couilles d'Alex me caresser le sacrum. Nos deux hommes nous regardent ainsi emmanchés quelques instants avant de se mettre à nous limer.

Une bouche sur son sexe avec un sexe dans sa bouche et un autre dans le cul, difficile de faire mieux question bouchage de trous ! Sous mes yeux, je vois la rondelle de Johan s'ouvrir sous la poussée de Marc et se refermé quand il en sort. J'ai l'impression de pouvoir voir la mienne se faire déplisser par la queue d'Alex tant leur synchronisme est bon.

Johan et moi nous savourons nos positions de passifs pas inactifs pour autant. Je tète sa bite comme si ma vie en dépendait et je le sens qui m'aspire avec autant d'ardeur. Les coups de boutoirs qui défoncent nos cul commencent tout doucement à se désynchroniser et nous finissons secoués, le sling balançant entre nos deux mâles. Je sens ma rondelle s'ouvrir encore un peu plus avant qu'Alex ne me fixe contre ses cuisses et décharge au fond de mon cul (dans sa kpote). C'est à peu près ce qu'a du ressentir Johan au même moment. Nous avons juste le temps de recracher nos bites avant de juter entre nous, barbouillant de sperme nos pecs et abdos.

Deux " plops " plus tard, nous étions libérés de nos " broches ". Johan est resté sur moi le temps de récupérer un peu et je n'ai pas eu la force de le virer. Ce n'est que quand Alex a gueulé que les douches étaient libres que nous nous sommes décollés (le sperme ayant séché entre temps) puis relevés. Quand nous sommes arrivés aux sanitaires séparant le donjon d'avec la salle de gym, Alex et Marc en sortaient en peignoirs. Alex nous dit de les rejoindre au salon quand nous serons prêts.

Avec Johan, nous avons pris tout notre temps sous les douches. Chacun savonnant, massant l'autre, nous avons fini dans les bras l'un de l'autre à nous rouler un patin magistral, trop bon cette impression de " masturbation ;continuelle ". Je pense que c'est un peu ce que doivent ressentir les jumeaux Tic et Tac, faudra qu'on en discute. Comme le mélange de salive avait ravivé notre libido, ma bite est venue très naturellement boucher le cul de Johan, pour son plus grand plaisir. sous les douches, je l'ai enculé debout, lui ses mains sur le mur carrelé amortissaient mes assauts, alors que les miennes sur ses hanches dirigeaient l'action.

Je l'ai fait jouir sur le carrelage blanc puis je me retirais pour juter sur son dos.

Nouvelle douche, un séchage qui a duré presque autant de temps que notre passage sous l'eau et nous sommes remontés rejoindre nos mâles. Ils étaient en train de discuter d'Ammed et Samir nos deux hommes de services. Alex demandait à Marc où nous les avions trouvés, combien ils nous coutaient et autres détails. Johan peu intéressé par le sujet me demanda si je pouvais l'emmener tester le SLS. ;Dans le même état d'esprit, je prévenais Marc et Alex que nous partions faire un tour en voiture. Marc me recommanda d'être raisonnable (difficile avec un tel monstre) et Alex nous dit d'être sérieux, ses contacts à la police n'étant pas de permanence ce WE.

Le bip du portail dans la poche, nous les avons laissé. Sous la direction de Johan qui connaît bien le coin, nous sommes arrivés à l'autoroute. Début de WE, je préfère prendre le sens province pour faire le repérage de radar et revenir sur la direction de Paris moins susceptible d'abriter les bleus.

Bien m'en a pris, sur 50Km nous repérons deux radars dans ce sens mais rien en face. Sortie puis retour. Peu de véhicules, dès la sortie de la bretelle, j'enfonce l'accélérateur au plancher. Les vitesses automatiques passent à une vitesse folle et nous sommes à 250 Km/h le dos collé au baquet.les voitures que nous doublons sembles aspirées vers nous. Johan est ravi. A peine 1/4 heure plus tard, nous passions devant notre sortie. Johan me dit de continuer jusqu'à la prochaine aire d'autoroute, ça y drague un peu. Au ralenti (135 Km/h), nous arrivons et je me gare devant le bloc sanitaire, dans l'enfilade de l'entrée homme.

Nous restons quelques instants à mater. Quelques mecs entrent et sortent des WC. Ceux qui en sont sortis flânent autour du bâtiment. Avec Johan nous décidons d'aller les narguer. Quand nous entrons, il reste deux places sur les 6 urinoirs nous nous plaçons cote à cote. Je pisse, il pisse et nous bandons. Quelques coups de poignet et les 4 autres matent vers nous. Nos queues égouttées, nous nous les échangeons. J'approche mon visage du sien et nous nous roulons un patin.

Silence de mort. Quand nous nous décollons, les 4 autres mecs bandent et se branlent. Je suis trop chaud pour qu'on en reste là. Un coup d'oeil à Johan, nous sommes d'accord. On se réajuste un minimum et sortons pour occuper les WC pour handicapés. Un mec essaye de nous suivre mais nous l'éconduisons, trop moche (ça, ça peut passer) et trop petitement monté (c'est rédhibitoire).

Comme un imbécile, j'ai laissé le matériel dans la caisse. Nous nous contentons de nous piper mutuellement. Je le fais juter en premier puis c'est son tour de m'amener à exploser avec sa bouche. j'ai failli me faire surprendre et lui juter dans sa gorge, tellement mon gland se plaisait derrière son larynx. Quand nous sortons, nous sommes matés par une bonne demi douzaine de mecs. J'attrape Johan par le cou et j'en rajoute une couche par un nouveau baiser accompagné d'une main au paquet. Quand nous nous écartons j'ajoute tout haut, " merci mon amour " et nous partons à la voiture.

Les regards nous ont suivis jusqu'à ce que nous sortions de l'aire de repos. Une fois sur l'autoroute, nous avons éclaté de rire. Johan super excité, c'était la première fois qu'il faisait ce genre de plan. Retour à la maison. Johan raconte à Alex notre " aventure ". ;Marc nous dit que nous n'avons pas été très courageux. Je lui dis que c'était pas l'objet et qu'en plus, la population était loin d'être à nos goûts.

JARDINIER

+

[synthetictorii]

Love At First Dance ✧ Dance Teacher!Toshinori Yagi

Pairing: All Might/Toshinori Yagi x reader Genre: fluff Summay: Toshinori is the new teacher at the academy and he needs some guidance that you willingly provider. Needless to say he'd like to make it up to you - and what better way than through dance? Word count: 3.7k A/N: ...obligatory old and cringey fic ahead warning... + this was a wattpad rq

     Walking across the road, you regretted not putting your warm fluffy hoodie on. The cold weather hit the city only yesterday and you thought it’s not gonna be that bad so you didn’t bother to take a jacket, opting for a mere cardigan instead. Big mistake. It didn’t prevent the cold wind to chill you to the bone at all. And since it was only the start of autumn, no one thought of starting up the heating system of the school you worked in yet so the whole building was a half-freezing hell as well. How fitting, considering how many students would describe their school experiences as hellish. You smirked a bit, wondering if that’s how your students would talk about your lessons too. You rounded your shoulders, trying to warm your stiff with cold muscles. The café wasn’t even that far from the school and yet you already felt like no amount of warm-up will get you ready for the lesson. Oh well, the coffee was worth it. Fate, however, had different plans for you.

  Just as the place you aimed for came into the view, so did something – or rather someone – else. A man you recognized even from far away. He had fluffy blonde hair and crystal blue eyes that simply dragged your full attention to him. And the fact that his charcoal grey turtleneck hugged his sculpted body snuggly didn’t exactly help either. He looked like an angel! If only angels wore their jackets folded over their arms while carrying a little cardboard cup holder. He waved at you and you returned the gesture, rushing to meet him halfway. How he was not freezing was beyond your comprehension.

  “Hey Toshi! Also lacking caffeine I see,” you teased once you were close enough and eyed the cup holder, finally noticing it was occupied by two cups. “Yeah, I thought you might want some too and hoped to catch you before you have to endure this cold. I know you grew up in warmer climate, so… yeah,” he rubbed his neck with a shy smile that made your heart flutter. “Aw, that’s so sweet! Thank you so much! I swear I’ll stay put next time,” you smiled gratefully.  “I’m not your personal delivery service, you know?” he joked as he handed you your cup. You hummed dismissively and took a sip. It was done just the way you liked it. That caught you off guard and he probably noticed because he chuckled at your confused expression. “What? You thought I wouldn’t remember how you take your coffee after all these weeks?” Now it was your turn to be shy. “Well I didn’t exactly have a reason to assume so,” you smiled a little bit as you sipped the drink again.

  You were not bitter, truly not. But it was such a stark contrast between you two. You on one hand never missed an opportunity to watch his lessons or just sneak a peek as he practiced. While on the other he never bothered to do anything like that or to at the very least try to get to know your dance style better. You would lie if you said you weren’t disappointed by his behaviour – you were friends, colleagues and even shared an office after all. You kept telling yourself that maybe he just doesn’t feel comfortable enough to just barge in and watch you so you offered him to help you during the class but he always politely declined. Yet here he was, remembering something so stupid like how you like your coffee.

  “I’m full of surprises,” he winked you playfully. You choked on your drink, laughing as you coughed. “Where did that come from?” you said in between coughs, lips spread into a wide smile. He shrugged as he laughed himself. “I guess I’m still half asleep,” he joked, finishing his drink in a long swig. “Or maybe just slowly dying from the cold,” you muttered as you gulped down the rest of the warm liquid and were once again left to face the cold without any protection. You shivered as the freezing wind rushed past you. “Oh, I’m so stupid, I didn’t notice – here, take this,” he stumbled over his words as he put his jacket over your shoulders. The relief was immediate. You almost purred like a cat with the sudden warmth. “Are you sure? It’s not that far, I can do it,” you politely assured he was alright without his jacket even though there was no way you were going to give it back until you reached the school where you kept a warm sweater for this kind of scenarios. “I’m fine, the cold never really bothered me,” he smiled at you. “Thank you,” you returned the motion and snuggled into the warm piece of clothing.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

   Finally you reached your apartment after a long day at school. You loved your job and wouldn’t change it for a world but sometimes it was too much. And with the freezing hell the building was today you were ready to take a hot shower and hit the hay.      

  Which was exactly what you did and now you were laying in your bed, a thick duvet covering your body from toes to chin. Your stomach was full after a delicious dinner you made and you felt content. Well, quite content anyway. You couldn’t help but feel melancholic as you looked out the window into the dark, quiet street.

  It was at times like this you missed your home the most. You got over the cultural shock pretty quickly since you’ve always been interested in Japanese culture and way of life. Getting used to it wasn’t that bad, everyone was very polite, nice and you’ve found some great friends that helped you as well. But sometimes at night when it was so quiet it was unsettling you remembered the soft noise you always heard outside while growing up and the comfort of knowing that you were surrounded by people who had the same worldview and values as you.

  And the parties, god, did you miss those. Every one moved in sync, body on body, moving to the rhythm of salsa and mambo. How easy it was to get lost and free yourself from everything, just dancing to the beat and meeting handsome strangers. Well the last part applied here too, only your handsome stranger wasn’t interested in dancing with you and he was no stranger. You scoffed as you thought of Toshinori. He was your very own mixed signal generator. He was nice, he was friendly and paid attention to what you were saying and actually remembered it – the coffee earlier was not the first time he surprised you with what he remembered about you.

  What you admired and loved the most about him though was his passion for dancing that matched your own. That was part of the reason you always made time to watch him dance. His moves perfectly matched the songs and expressed so many emotions. The shy guy disappeared completely; it was like watching a caterpillar change into butterfly. It always made you long for his touch on your skin to rhythm of salsa, you knew he would be a perfect dance partner for you! The moves were a bit different, sure, since his style was more street dance whereas you, obviously, focused more on latin style dances and hip hop, yet you knew he was talented enough to learn from you quickly. 

   So why? Why did he never accept your offer to come and watch when you asked him? Could he not see how important it was for you? You huffed, he for sure was oblivious about every hint you dropped that you liked him, but he surely couldn’t be as dense? Sighing deeply, you decided to let it go for tonight. It wasn’t like you could do anything about it right now and your body craved sleep.

   -.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

  Toshinori leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms. He would never guess that being teacher would also mean so much paperwork. And you weren’t in yet to brighten his day. He ran his hands down his face when there was a knock on the open door. He looked over to see his long-time friend and fellow teacher, Naomasa, standing there. “Hey, Nao,” he greeted as he pushed himself away from the desk. “Hey, still not done with those?” the other man pointed towards the many stacks of paper on Toshinori’s desk. “Yeah, [y/n] promised to help me fill them correctly,” he sighed. It always took him forever but with you it was so easy. “I recommend you make it up to her, she helps you all the time you know,” his friend said with mischievous glimmer in his eyes. Here we go again, Toshinori thought. “What do you suggest I do?” he crossed his arms over his chest; he already knew what his friend will propose. “Well, you always turn her down when she offers you to join her during a class,” he shrugged and the blonde couldn’t help but sigh. “And what would I do there? I can’t dance like she does,” he argued but Naomasa had none of that. “You can watch her, you know, everybody here does that. Just go and support your friend.” Toshinori knew that of course, literally everyone told him to go and see her class. It was one of many things he really liked about the school – that everyone was so supportive of each other and often watched others dance. With you however it wasn’t so easy. He knew he wouldn’t be able to just watch the whole time. “You know why that’s a bad idea,” he pinched the bridge of his nose as his friend laughed at his misery. “So what? You like her and she likes you,” Naomasa ignored Toshinori’s doubtful look with ease, “and you’re both so confident while dancing that might finally talk about it,” he finished his lecture with a big smile, completely oblivious to his friend’s exasperation.

  Before he could respond, presumably by kicking Naomasa from the office, you walked in and gave them both a questioning look. The black haired man grinned widely as he greeted you. “[y/n]! Doing great I hope?” You immediately felt suspicious about his cheery attitude. “Yeah, what’s up? Am I interrupting something?” You took of your coat and set your bag on the chair. “No, not at all, I have to run anyway! It was nice seeing you again [y/n] and Toshi, remember what we talked about,” he gave him a strict look that was slightly undermined by his wide grin. He left the office swiftly and you turned to look at Toshi who looked like he could strangle the man right now. You simply chuckled, it wasn’t the first time this has happened. “So what did he do today?” you asked amusedly but Toshi only shook his head. “Nothing really, he’s just annoying,” he sighed. You patted his shoulder supportively, “It’s alright, you can always tell your class to be extra mean to him.” He laughed at the suggestion, knowing his students would be more than thrilled to obey.

  Little did you know that his mind was racing under his laughing face. Because however he tried not to accept it, Naomasa was right. He did like you, he wanted to see you dance – and dance with you – so much, only more interested after everything he heard but he was afraid. Worried that once he saw you dance, there would be no going back and he would fall too deep. And what would he do then if you decided to reject him? On the other hand, how was he supposed to function when you occupied his mind all the time?

  Sighing, he decided to bite the bullet. “Hey, so, uh, I was doing these,” he said as he played with one of many papers on his desk. You looked at him curiously. “Yeah?” you prompted. He looked away for a bit. This was harder than he expected; his whole training seemed easier than this! “And I need a break so do you think I could join you in the class today?”

   Now it was your time to trip over your words and blush, all shy and shocked. You bit your lip to stop yourself from giggling. Speak and the universe will listen, huh? “Of course! It’ll be fun!” you blurted out quickly before he changed his mind. After all the weeks you tried to get him to come he’ll just ask himself, what’s up with that? You had a hunch that Naomasa was somehow involved in this but in your experience, he never could talk Toshi into anything so who knows. Said man laughed at your eagerness, awkwardly rubbing his neck. “I’ll just watch, I don’t think I could pull off the right moves.” You waved him off. “Sure sure, whatever.” You were too giddy to trouble yourself with anything but the fact that Toshinori will finally come and see you dance. Maybe he will like it and join you too! Well, that was too good to become true but girl can dream, right? You agreed on when and you told him where and parted ways to go to your respective classes. He wouldn’t be able to stay the whole lesson but it was a little step forward.

  You were ecstatic for the rest of the day. You put more energy into your moves, swayed your hips with more passion. Every song seemed to be about Toshi and you. Your mind was a mess but it was such a sweet feeling. Overall you were more cheerful and nicer to both students and your colleagues. Nemuri noticed too but said nothing – she probably guessed what was happening, judging from the shit-eating grin she was giving you. Fortunately, she kept her mouth shut and students whispered just quiet enough for you not to hear.

  And finally the fated lesson came. All the students were in the dance room your class took place in and among them, leaning against the wall in the front, Toshinori. You were almost sure he was blushing. It was the first time he saw you in just your leggings and tank-top afterall. You suddenly felt shy too but this was no time for your insecurities to pop out! You greeted everyone as usually and shared your plan for today: stretching, a little repeat of the moves they learned the last time and then new steps that will finally complete the whole fast sequence of this dance. It was something you worked on for the last two weeks with them so you hoped everything will go smoothly, especially today. Though students noticed your unusual mood and impatience to start already but it looked like nobody made the connection between these changes and Toshinori’s presence.

   You let the music play and went through a quick stretch session. Your muscles were already warmed from the previous lessons as was the case of most students but you wanted to make sure everyone was ready. Better safe than sorry, right? Then a shift in your playlist came, signalling that the class was about to move to the more interesting part. “Alright everyone, let’s do it!” you shouted excited as you adapted to the music.

   Toshinori watched this change awe-struck. His eyes never left your body as you moved to the music. You moved in such feline way, so sensually, teasingly swaying your hips to the rhythm. Your movements were quick and precise but also slow and breath-taking when needed to be. He could imagine with great detail what you would feel like under his hands if he held you, every little movement of your muscles as his palms would slide on your skin.  He had a hard time just standing there, nodding to the rhythm when your dance was so inviting he forgot about not knowing steps. He felt like he could just melt into you and follow your commands without you ever giving them aloud. He felt so robbed when his phone vibrated and forced him to leave for his own lesson. He tch’ed as he looked at you longingly. How was he supposed to teach now?  It was like he was leaving a miracle in progress just to watch tv. With a soft sigh, he waved at you as he promised to do when he was leaving. He hoped you didn’t notice how much his hands shook.

  You didn’t. How could you with the look he gave you? You doubted he realized, but in that moment he looked at you like you were an angel saving him from death. Such thirsty and regretful look. A shiver ran down your spine but you carried on. You can freak out about it later when the students leave.   

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

  Once you put your mind to it again, the class ended unexpectedly soon. You thanked everyone for their attention and hard work and said goodbyes when suddenly Mineta and Kaminari raised their hands. You knew well how they could be so you raised a brow questioningly as you nodded for them to ask. “[l/n]-sensei, we wanted to ask if it was possible to have classes where we would dance with a partner,” they asked in unison. You saw Jiro giving them a disgusted look. Chuckling, you shrugged your shoulders. “It’s something I’ve been thinking about too but I would need everyone’s consent and a okay from the principal,” you explained. It would take some effort to find more boys for the girls to dance with too, but these kids were really talented and always gave it their all so you were willing to try harder for them too. “Think about it and let me know next time, alright everyone?” you smiled as they left the room, already shouting and talking one another into being their partners. You shook your head fondly; you remembered being the same way in their age.

  A soft knock on the door interrupted your thoughts and when you looked up, you didn’t believe your eyes. Toshinori stood there and his eyes never left yours. It must’ve been the first time he didn’t avert his gaze from you and it was wonderful and scary at the same time. What was he thinking about? You were about to find out soon… “Teach me how to dance like that,” he said with a confidence he never showed you before. No. He did. This was the confidence he had while he was on the dancefloor. He had the same determined, passionate look in his azure eyes that shone brightly with energy. “O-okay,” you laughed is disbelief but you were so happy and pleasantly surprised you thought you might pass out.

  He walked over to you and let you show him how to stand. His face turned red when he realized just how close you would be during the dance but didn’t back away how he usually would. You showed him the basic moves and saw how the shade on his cheeks darkened. “Don’t worry, it’s alright,” you chuckled as you motioned for him to join you and try himself. He was awkward, clearly hesitant to let go, so you stood behind him and put your hands on his hips. He stiffened under your palms but relaxed again when you led his movements, corrected them be more fluid. When you were finally satisfied with the way it looked, you stood beside him again and showed him how to connect this move to another, piping in with what you’ll do. He was speechless as he saw just how sensual your moves were and how passionate. He knew what your dance looks like, sure, but having you show him while so close took it to a whole new level. Yet his resolve didn’t falter if anything, he wanted to prove to you that he can get as wild as you.

  When he had at least some idea with how your native dance works, you moved forward to the real test: combining your steps and dancing together. He tensed again slightly when you invaded his personal space, this time though he relaxed almost immediately. By the look in his eyes it was obvious he wanted this to work out just as much as you. In any way really – just this dance or you two being partners or even couple. Right now it didn’t matter for in this moment all that mattered was the music your bodies pressed close, swaying to the rhythm. He didn’t flinch when the music started playing and you took his hands and put them on your waist. The material of your tank top was so thin it was like there was nothing separating your skins. It would be such a nice contrast too, his creamy white skin against your tanned darker one. You tried the first few moves tentatively, getting used to his presence behind you. He did the same, hesitating when he was to move your hands along your curves but you were gentle with him, always assuring that it was alright. It wasn’t like he was doing anything intimate in the wrong sense.

  Soon enough though, you both let the music consume you. There was nothing shy about Toshinori anymore, he knew what he was doing and even if the steps were rather easy for you, they were far from boring. Your energy surged to the room and didn’t hit a wall but mingled with Toshi’s, creating a mix that pushed you both to experiment, tease each other and push your boundaries. It wild, crazy, exciting and perfect you felt like you were high. You just moved in sync with Toshi and forgot all about the world in favour of the music and his skin against yours.

  When the music stopped, you were both out of breath. You stared into each other’s eyes, so close to each other. Your hands were on his chest and his on your hips as you were pressed flush against him. The atmosphere was hot and heavy, almost tangible. But neither of you tried to move away nor did you say anything. No words were needed for you two to understand.  This would happen again. And again. And again. Until one of you wouldn’t be able to dance anymore. And even then, no doubt, you will find a different way to connect so deeply.

[elbiotipo]

Varied worlds of Campoestela:

This time they are outside from the Esteloplatense Confederation (you can call it Space Argentina). Some of them are from the wider 'human space', others not.

Hilav: A pleasant world of blue seas and archipaelagos, at the junction of several trade routes. Initially settled by Alevis from Turkey, their influence can still be seen in the local culture and architecture, but is now probably one of the most cosmopolitan worlds of human space, with bustling universities and markets. The orbital ring around Hilav glitters with the constant docking and undocking of ships, and is a reminder every time you look at the sky of just where you are.

Fraternité: A tropical world with low-lying lands and extensive river systems, terraformed with African flora and fauna. The Republic of Fraternité is one of the newest members of the Ubuntu Union, and is located in a privileged new aetheric route leading to Concordia. The cities of Fraternité are booming with cranes and construction robots, even as it tries to retain its traditional forestry genemodding art it is still known for.

Iaotol: Homeworld of the ibis-like Syuted, a dry world with rivers fed by melting glaciers. The canyon cities of Syuted are where you would find the sometimes uncanny displays of traditional Syuted "magic", including sentient gemstones and talking corpses whose secrets are tightly kept. The newer cities in the desert fed by hydroponics are where most of the population lives nowadays.

Ruleta: A million-years old ancient ring-shaped orbital, it has an overall steppe oceanic climate and geography, but it's unclear if that was the original configuration of its builders. Countless cultures have risen and fallen here, many still live in mountain chains or open spaces within the orbital. The current human inmigrants, perhaps because of nominative determinism, are known by their lavish casinos by the seas.

Berekti: A world under an ice age, with karstic caverns sheltering pockets of vegetation from the glaciers. Originally inhabited only by Oriental Orthodox monks from Ethiopia and a small spaceport town with EXCELLENT cafés, in the past few decades it has recieved some attention by extreme sports fans who come to enjoy the rugged geography.

Smaragaid: A carefully terraformed world of forested islands each with their own unique dialects and cultures, it was colonized by Irish culture revivalists who took the rather extreme step of completely banning English and related languages from the planet. Despite the trade opportunities, it remains a rather closed world, only accessible to chosen confidants who have to be vouched as trusted by local councils and families.

Utveh: Homeworld of the snake-like Feisans. While having a variety of climates, Feisans do prefer to live in the many floating 'mangroove' forests that spread over the tropical seas of this world. The basic political unit in Utveh is precisely the Floating Forest, and they have translated this to their expansion into space, preferring to live in independent orbitals. Their orbital constellations are often close to human worlds, coexisting or competing with them.

Saudade: Part of the Brazilian diaspora, this world of beautiful granite formations and flowered valleys experienced such political inestability that it turned into an absolute monarchy. Over the centuries, a constitutional regime emerged, but the dramas and turns of the Realeza are known all over human space, despite the thriving communist movement who's fucking sick of them.

Nueva Valparaíso: A remote, lightly populated world above the galactic plane. Rumors of strange elements on its stormy seas have brought several prospectors, but few settlements besides some remote floating platforms loosely aligned with the Cruzur. It always rains in Nueva Valparaíso, even if it's just a drizzle, hiding the spectacular views of the Campoestela.

Saesfi: A dry world with a thin atmosphere, with lush lowlands with unique ecosystems separated by lifeless mesa-like continents. Homeworld of the Saihisi, a cactus-like species. Saihisi mostly live in connected genets, and one driving factor for their spacebound exploration was to avoid damaging the fragile enviroments of Saesfi. They have settled in all sorts of "gardens" across the stars, but some embrace a more individual existence.

San Marco: Capital of the Serenissima Unione and a major trade center, San Marco is a warm world of low-lying seas, stromatolites and coral reefs, with colorful iridiscent fauna. Because of its beautiful sunsets and islands, it's considered one of the most romantic worlds in human space, at least according to the tourist board. There is a replica of Venezia in one of the atolls, but over time it has adquired a more tropical flair.

Concordia: If there is a true center of Campoestela, it's Concordia. Located in the crossroads of the main three aetheric currents, every space traveller eventually ends up here. A dyson sphere made of swarms of habitats of diamond-like carbon, it has been inhabited over millions of years, in fact, many cultures long extinct are still found here. From the modern city-ports to the ancient palaces and the edenic habitat gardens, Concordia is a sharp contrast of itself: a bustling, modern trade center with a yet not-wholly understood history stretching into the night of time.

Gagarin ("Little Terra"): An O'Neill Cylinder in Concordia, built under the auspices of the Terran Council to represent humanity in the galactic center. Over time, it has become an overbuilt city with people from all over human space and beyond. You can find virtually everything and everybody in the streets of Little Terra with every organization and culture represented somewhere. Many other habitats have been built around it, giving a bit of a ramshackle appearance. However, it retains its political and economic importance.

[angeart]

//more crackers smp lore and also some comfort

There’s been another attack—another overwhelmed scream—and it hurt, but that wasn’t the important part. The important part was that the night that wrapped around them all afterwards was silent, muffled in a way wholly unsettling. Bereaved and lonely. Something sad carried on the gentle breeze, mixed in with drifting snowflakes and fluttering pink petals. A fracture was growing, unseen but still there, around the snowy tips of the mountain. Somewhere amidst the cold, unfriendly snow, a patch of sculk steadily grew.

Ange finds herself standing at the edge of the snow, letting all of this wash over her. A mix of emotions swirls in the pit of her stomach, fueled by unease and worry. She stares, through the darkness that surrounds her, towards the little dip just below the top of the mountain range, where a house sits in isolation. Well, as much isolation as the ever-present sculk and the sway of wheat that’s not meant to grow in such a cold climate can grant. 

She takes a breath, the air crisp and heavy in her lungs, and she steps forward, placing her feet carefully along the pathway she’s learned over the time—a safe route picked apart after many mishaps, a way to reach her friend without unnecessary trouble.

Wren liked this place. They liked it, all the coldness and treachery of it. 

That’s why they picked it, for their café. For their home.

The views were wonderful, Ange had to admit. The gently falling snow, even if freezing to touch, was oddly comforting. Except not now. Now it reeks of solitude, where before it was a shared place, somewhere for people to come—a café.

Now, the only thing greeting Ange are the sculk sensors lighting up and rattling at her, and the mobs lurking in the dark ready to pounce.

The creaking of the snow gets swapped for a much more mushy sound of the sculk, only marginally less soft. If she’d slow down, she could make her steps almost completely silent, but there’s no need for that. She isn’t down in some deep, dark cave. She’s up in the overworld and the night sky is lit up by the northern lights, snaking through like a beacon of hope, and sneaking won’t help her deter the pesky skeletons that rattle just beyond the closest snow dune. 

She walks over the blackened ground, littered with specks of light blue not unlike freckles over skin or stars over the sky, until she reaches the house. 

And then she stops, seeing the figure curled up in front of the front door, warm in the thick winter clothes, but definitely not safe out here at this hour. 

Ange hesitates, despite herself. There’s an echo of a scream, something distressed and wounded and desperate, and a responding echo of pain that digs in white-hot, unravelling something at the code-level, burrowing under the skin, touching the organs and making the blood boil—all in one go—like a sonically charged shriek. Her hand trembles a little as she holds it over her stomach, lingering memory of a hurt that shouldn’t have been real flaring up under her touch. 

Still, she takes another tentative step closer.

The sculk sensors rattle, and Wren snaps their head up at the sound.

Wide alarmed eyes meet Ange’s across the distance that still separates them.

“Wh— No—”

Ange stands perfectly still, brows furrowing as she tries to parse through that reaction. “Do you… not want me here?” she hazards a guess, because she isn’t here to impose and even though she came uninvited, she doesn’t want to make Wren uncomfortable.

At the question, Wren takes a sharp breath and uncurls a little bit more, back straightening. “No, that’s—” Sculk sensors light up, rattling softly in the background at the words. Wren’s eyes flit to them, as if they were louder than they actually are; as if they pulled and tugged violently at their attention. It’s only once they quiet down that they take a breath to speak again, and it’s wobbly on their lips, full of wariness and apprehension. “I could hurt you!”

There’s a momentary pause as Ange blinks, taking it in. “Is that the only problem?”

Wren pulls away slightly, confused. “What?”

A small, unbothered shrug accompanies Ange’s words as she reinstates the question. “Is that the only problem? That you might hurt me?” The night chill is sneaking under her clothes; she’s not dressed for snow, even if she keeps coming here. An involuntary shiver runs through her body, but she ignores it. 

“Yeah,” Wren says, breathless and still on the edge of baffled. Their brows knot. “Is that— Is that not enough?”

“Enough for what?” Ange considers Wren where they still sit huddled up. They look warm. They look like it’d feel nice to cuddle up to them, steal some of their warmth. At the same time, they look cornered. They look like they’ve put themselves in a place they can no longer run from, at the end of their rope. Just inches from falling apart. “Wren, what is it that you want from me?” she prompts, waiting for the words I want you to leave.

The words don’t come. 

Instead, frustration seeps off Wren as they say: “I want you to be safe.”

A small, sad smile curves Ange’s lips and she takes an easy step forward. “Nowhere is safe.” Nowhere is safe, and everywhere is just a step away from the maze of the mines, and the call of the sculk, and the disorienting dizziness of the world. Everywhere just a step away from an arrow in the back, a sonic shriek, a fall of a cliff. Just a step away from drowning in a powdered snow. “And I’m not afraid of you.” She takes another step, just as easy as the first. 

“Ange,” Wren says, and it comes out a warning.

They’re tense, wide-eyed, everything about them screaming You should be afraid. I am. Please be afraid. For your own good. Please understand.

But Ange brushes the message aside and doesn’t heed the warning. She keeps on walking, step after step, arms wrapped around herself just to stave off the impending, bothersome cold that keeps her verging on shivering. “Oh, so many things can hurt me, Wren, you’re not special,” she says half-jokingly, trying to lighten the situation. Her eyes shine in the dark, light but bright purple as she makes her approach, each step marked by a rattle of several sculk sensors that have made their home here.

Wren seems to deflate a little, something warring and unreadable in their expression as they pry their gaze away from the approach of a friend, eyes flitting across the glowing sculk sensors that pierce and diminish the soothing darkness of the night.

“Actually,” Ange sighs quietly, and she’s so, so close now. She crouches down, slow and careful and unthreatening, keeping her voice soft. “Wren?” she tries to catch Wren’s gaze, anchor the attention for the next words.

Wren pulls their knees tighter to their chest, their back against a corner of the building as they loook up and meet Ange’s gaze. “Hm?”

Ange offers a tiny, encouraging smile. “You are. Special, I mean.”

Incomprehension flickers across Wren’s gaze, and behind it something knowing, but deliberately evasive. “What?”

With a small huff, Ange sits back on her heels. “It’s like the whole powdered snow situation, isn’t it.” She tilts her head a little, considering. This probably isn’t going to make much sense, and she knows it—because it makes sense to her, in her head, but translating it into words is hard. Still, she studies Wren’s face, hoping to find something more than fear and tension and anxiety. Just a sliver of opennes, something she could slip through, that’d be enough. “You know, how if you fall in, you aren’t supposed to break it,” she says softly. “You don’t break it just because it hurts you. You let it run its course. You let it consume you.” 

Honestly, she isn’t sure she’s explaining this right. But there’s something about it that rings so true in her heart—maybe because she’s fallen into that damned powdered snow over and over again. Wren asked her not to destroy it, and so she always let it be. She let it be, cold biting and ravaging, taking away her warmth in a swift and vicious way and chipping away at what was left underneath. And she still didn’t take a weapon to it. Because she knew it’s going to be alright. Because at the end of it, she would respawn, safe and sound, in the warmth of her bed, and all she’d lose was a bit of time.

Most importantly, she never took a weapon—or a shovel—to it, because she loves Wren.

She looks at her friend now, a mix of sorrow and pleading in her gaze as she reaches out, slowly and questioningly. 

Wren tenses up, but doesn’t move away, too surprised and still tangled in trying to understand whatever Ange was saying for any sharper reaction. 

Ange takes what she’s given, and she lets her fingers connect with the warm skin of Wren’s face. Sculk-stained blackened fingertips slide over the cheek, right into the fur equally marked by sculk.

They’re not that different, she thinks.

“I’ll respawn if anything happens, Wren,” she half-whispers. “It’s okay.”

The gentleness of it all seems to break something in Wren, as their eyes suddenly glisten and fill with tears, hot ones that easily overflow. A dark, clawed fear that they’re now dangerous and nobody is safe near them and that everybody surely hates them now was so overpowering, but it shatters and gives so easily under the pressure of cold, friendly fingers and a kind smile. Somewhere behind it all, like a beacon of a lighthouse, the thought: I am not completely alone yet.

So Wren hiccups and sniffles and dips their head, even as it disconnects the salvaging touch. They pull into themselves, a bubble of self-protection from the thorns of the world, the ground rattling and humming and whispering underneath them hungrily, incessantly, even with someone’s presence so, so close.

“Oh, Wren,” Ange breathes out and shifts closer, still careful, still slow. She moves to sit next to Wren, wraps one arm around them and pulls them to her.

Wren slumps against her without a fight, hands pressed to their face and body shaking.

Relief is a warm tide, washing over Ange as Wren allows themselves to be held. 

Murmuring quiet things, Ange continues holding Wren without any sign of a desire to move away. She holds them, and she looks ahead at the sculk crashing into snow, and the pale, beautiful glow of the northern lights, and the blurry sway of cherry petals somewhere deep below the mountain.

And she thinks that, one way or another, they’re going to be okay.

Even though the black markings on her skin whisper gleefuly that she’s wrong, she elects not to believe them. Not to give in to that anxiety. Not on this particular night, with a precious friend in her hold. Not now, not now, not now.

Time twists around them, a nonsensical and dizzying concept, vague and dancing. It could be minutes, it could be hours, before they stir and Wren pulls away a little, finally quiet, rubbing their cheeks raw to erase the lingering traces of the tears. It’s still dark outside, stars shining brightly high above them.

“Wren…?” Ange says their name quietly, testingly, sheepishly.

“Yea?” Wren sniffles, face still hidden from sight.

There’s a skipped-beat of hesitation, before the question spills out, inviting and encouraging and afraid of rejection: “Do you want to sleep over at mine…?” 

Ange thinks of the dark circles under Wren’s eyes. Of the desperation and distress that led to those hurtful screams in the first place. Of their tears. Of the rattle of the sculk and the humming of the endermen somewhere just beyond the windowpanes, inside. She thinks of Judas’ empty bunk bed upstairs. She thinks of Wren, possibly falling apart at the seams, awake and exhausted and stumbly on their feet. She thinks of how heavily they leaned into her just moments ago, as if the weight of their own body—or maybe the weight of their sculk-stained soul—was too much for them to bear.

“Stiff is going to be in the lab all night again,” she continues to explain, to soothe any worries or bumps that might cause indecision. “And I have a spare bed.” 

There’s silence, considering and tense and not promising anything.

So with an audible smile, Ange adds a hopeful “We could cuddle?”

She feels Wren take a breath. 

It takes another moment, before Wren’s voice breaks the silence, shy and barely audible: “You’d… want that?”

Ange immediately latches onto it, because it isn’t a no. It’s a seeking of reassurance, and that she can do. With a grin growing on her face, she nods, even though Wren isn’t watching. “Yes,” she says, unhesitatingly. “I absolutely want that.”

It’s only then that Wren shifts again, enough to turn, and their eyes meet. They search in Ange’s gaze for a while, destabilised and desperately trying to find something that’d offer them some footing, and—

And maybe, just maybe, they find it.

Because when Wren breathes out, they end up saying “Okay.”

[chiarasweets]

Experimental Art of Mew Lychee in her mermaid form...plus some sketches of my Tokyo Mµ Project. 

Let me introduce you to Zaar’tar, a strong galaxian warrior and outcast of Äelysia, one of the few sibling planets of earth and the origin of  Mµ Aqua.

On the right, his sister, Lobelia, princess of Äelysia and refugee on earth.

In the middle Lilinas (Lychee) Aquaria Mon Ocean ouftit, lol. The mews do not longer work at the café, but at an aquarium centre. Long before TMMN was announced I had decided to base my fanstory around the ocean and since TMMN has been going that route it fits perfectly with my story. ;u; I cannot tell you how pleasing that is. In any way, theres also a version with shorts! But Lilina always hops right into the water and plays with the rescued animals and takes care of them.

Especially with the background story of the Aliens we know so far.

In  Tokyo Mµ Project the inhabitants of Äelysia and a few warriors from space seek refugee on earth after Äelysia, a neutral planet and usually never involved in any wars and politics as decided per all the other colonies - has been under attack to get hold of the princesses as well as the strong power of  Mµ Aqua. Now, Äelysia has been Eden in Universe so to say. Usually you’d drop by to heal and refresh; also a great place for trading. The residents do not hold any weapons and violence is strictly forbidden. Those who go against the rules or decide to leave the planet; are outcasts and banned.

So, hiding on their new home called Earth, the princess and some other royals retreat to the depths of the ocean (where they also resided in Äelysia. Hence the importance of mermaids in my project as well as in TMMN now! Nice.)

the rest develops a new life. I had originally planned to make element based tribes, which would explain why Kisshu, Pie and Tart could fly (their ancestors would be from the wind/air tribe).

TMMN stated, that the aliens on earth had to leave because of the climate change and other stuff, I had planned the same, only with a few surviving after the catastrophe hits.

Those would evolve into what humans are now over time. 

There is so much more to say actually but for know I’ll leave it as it is.

If you have questions though...you can always send an ask! :)

[thierry-facon]

My new show, CLIMATE OF CHANGES, will open on 10th November at 7PM at LUKA 3rd Floor (LUKA Café Bangkok on Thanon Pan) as part of the 2023 Galleries night. This will coincide wiht the 8th anniversary of LUKA Café Bangkok.

"CLIMATE OF CHANGES explores three major issues of today: climate change, with the SEVEN CLIMATE SINS AND FOUR LAST THINGS series; the digital world in which we are immersed and the place occupied by the artist within it, with the MÉTENVERS/ MY OWN PRIVATE METAVERSE series; and the ideological and societal currents affecting us, with the A WORLD RELIGION series.

Each series consists of composite tableaux using humour and surrealism to explore different aspects of its theme creating a fictional, dreamlike narrative. Thierry Facon’s images are large, intricate frescoes with luscious, vibrant colours and textures, in which he pays homage to (and subjugates) his favourite works in the history of art and the cultures of the countries he has lived in on five continents and that inspire his visual universe. Their aesthetics can be summed up by Polish writer Witold Gombrowicz’s motto: "transporting the most up-to-date contraband on old-fashioned bench carts, that's what I like.” "